The Greater Good
by VampireNaomi
Summary: After WWII, Germany feels that the world would be better off if he disappeared, so he fakes his own death and leaves everything to Prussia. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

This is a story I originally wrote on the Hetalia kink meme. The prompt was that Germany fakes his own death to protect his people and/or Prussia.

Please note that the story deals with mentions of suicide and Nazi atrocities, especially the Holocaust. It takes place right after WWII.

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 1**

Germany drew in a long-suffering breath as he pushed open the front door of his small apartment in Munich and stepped out to the street. There hadn't been a guard on his doorstep for a good while now – a favour from America who was friendlier to him than the other Allies – but that hadn't yet made it any easier to show his face in public.

Leaving his apartment made him feel like a criminal. While the rubble from the bombings in Munich had been cleared in many places, the city still reminded him of a mouth with rotting teeth. So many houses were missing entirely or only a wall or two remained. His people didn't have enough of anything and had to scrape by however they could.

And all of it was his fault. He wasn't to blame just for what had happened to everyone he had considered an enemy but to his own people as well. His cities were in ruins, his agriculture couldn't feed his people, his factories had mostly been destroyed, and somehow he had to find food and shelter not only for those already living on his land but for those who had been expelled from the eastern territories as well. He would have rather called what they had existence than living, but he knew it would have been a mockery of the true atrocities of the war.

Merely acknowledging everything that had happened because of his war and how much blood there was on his hands – either directly or indirectly because he felt that every crime his people had committed was a burden he had to bear – was nearly enough to make him crumble. It was only thanks to his willpower that he managed to get out of bed every morning. Every glance out the window was a painful reminder of what had happened that he would have rather ignored.

Which was why he went out every morning and spent as much time as he could in the streets. He didn't deserve the comfort of hiding from the consequences of his actions. He had to look at them every day so that he'd never forget and let something like that happen again, even if thinking of a future of any kind was very tiring right now.

At the moment, there was no country for him to call his own. What remained of his lands was divided into occupation zones, and he had very little control over anything. The Allies were running things, each in their own way, which was making Germany feel a little disoriented with the whole thing. But he still had his people. Country or no, the people still identified as one and breathed life into their representation.

Germany supposed that was why Prussia was still alive even more than a year after his dissolution. His name was no longer on any map, but there were people who had grown up as Prussian and wouldn't stop thinking of themselves as such even if the borders had moved. The question was, for how long would that keep his brother alive? This generation and maybe the next? Sooner or later the people would adapt and start to think of themselves as citizens of whatever country was founded here.

America had been pushing for the formation of a country in place of the occupation zones, but Germany knew it was mostly because he believed it a necessary step to prevent communism from spreading west. England had been quick to see things his way, but France had taken longer to convince. Russia, well... He had his own plans, and Germany wasn't holding his breath for the chance that he'd cooperate with his allies any longer than was necessary.

He arrived at the spot where he was supposed to meet America. The other nation insisted on always meeting outside when they had to talk. At first Germany had suspected it was a subtle insult not to face him in a meeting room but surrounded by the destruction of a once beautiful city, but he had realised that America wasn't one for such sneakiness. He claimed he liked watching how everything was getting better – albeit very slowly – and that they had the chance to bond better in an informal setting.

America was already waiting for him and lifted a hand in greeting when he saw him. A swarm of children surrounded him, and he handed everyone a piece of something from his pockets before making his way through the crowd and approaching Germany.

"Sorry kiddos, I've got to talk business," he said, and even though most of the children probably didn't understand him, they hurried off anyway, already familiar with this routine.

"Any news about my brother?" Germany asked. It was what he always said first. Prussia had been staying in the Soviet occupation zone ever since his dissolution. Russia said he was alive and well – or as well as he could be, considering the circumstances – but Germany didn't know if he wanted to believe him. Russia could be lying just to mess with him, so it was better to be wary.

"You got a letter," America said. He shoved his hand inside his jacket and dug out an envelope. It had clearly been opened and read at least once before, but Germany didn't care. He reached for the envelope and tore the letter from inside it.

The neat, precise handwriting sent a wave of relief through him. At first, he didn't even read the words and just focused on the familiar curves of the letters and the date on top that said it had been written a week ago.

_Hey, West!_

_How's it going? I sure hope they're treating you better than what that ass is putting me through here. The food's disgusting, and his soups always leave me hungry. But that's okay! I can take whatever he makes me eat!_

_It took a while before I could convince him to let me write to you, but even he couldn't resist my powers of persuasion forever._

Germany paused, certain that Russia had simply grown tired of Prussia's pestering and had given in to get some peace.

_Things are pretty shitty over here. Can you imagine, Russia took all the best stuff and just transported it away! I told him we need it here, but he wouldn't listen. He can be real stubborn when he wants to. At first he kept sending my letters back to me because he wasn't happy with the way I talked about him in them, but I guess I've worn him out by now. But if I find out he lied to me and didn't send this to you, something really bad is going to happen!_

_Anyway, I bet you're all worried about me, so I just wanted to let you know that you can stop wasting your time and get working on rebuilding the country. I'm fine, and I'm going to join up with you as soon as I manage to make that Soviet nutcase stop breathing down my neck. See you later!_

_- Your awesome brother_

Germany read the letter several times, the words reminding him just how much he missed Prussia. All those occasions when he had wished for some peace from him felt ridiculous now.

"Can I keep this?" he asked.

"Sure, my boys already made a pretty good copy in case he's got some secret codes hidden there."

Germany nodded a thank-you, folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. Though it was light, he could feel its shape in his breast pocket.

"Anyway, I've got news for you, too!" America announced. "France has been playing as much time as he can, but he's got to let his zone merge with mine and England's. I don't think we can count Russia in, but three out of four isn't that bad, right? You're going to have a new country in no time!"'

Germany wished he could have shared America's enthusiasm, but there were too many doubts plaguing his mind. Was he even worthy to represent his people anymore? He had led them to a horrible war that had taken millions of innocent lives and left Europe in shambles. How could he help his people rebuild the country and create a better future when he had so much on his conscience and when he wasn't sure that any other nation would ever want to see him as an ally? The only reason America and the others were working with him was that he was beaten, and they had another strong enemy to deal with. Wouldn't it be better if someone else gave a face to the German people?

And then there was his brother. Everyone wanted to create a Germany that would be a barrier against Russia's influence. But the stronger this new Germany was, the faster Prussia's people would forget their roots, particularly since so many Prussian traditions were now associated with the national socialists and were therefore something to condemn.

"That's good," he said as neutrally as he could.

"Yeah! I'm glad you're happy!" America took out some of the chocolate he had given to the children earlier and offered it to Germany, but he declined, as always. America popped a piece into his mouth and began chewing eagerly. "Yum, in any case, you're... munch... going to stick with us, right? It's a lot better for you to have friends in the west than in the east."

"It's up to my people. If they elect a socialist government, I'll have to go along with it." It was the truth, but it sounded like an excuse in Germany's ears. The same could be said of his actions in the past decade or so, and while he knew there wasn't anything he alone could have done to stop it, he felt the responsibility was nevertheless his. He was the people, and the people had wanted revenge and an easy target to blame for their suffering.

America looked at him like he was about to throw up the chocolate he had just eaten. "You're kidding! Do you think that's possible? You think your people will do that? I know, I'll send more stuff this way, and not just food. You can have my music and movies and Coca-Cola! If your people still want Russia after that, they're all crazy. Not that we'll let them have their way anyway if that happens."

"Right now I'm sure they're more interested in who's going to give them food, shelter and normalcy than what politics anyone supports," Germany said.

"I can do that! And you can be my sidekick!"

Germany let America blabber about how the American, British and French occupation zones would merge and form a new country and how it was a pity Russia probably wasn't going to see things their way. He knew he should have paid more attention to what the other was saying, but he was soon tuning out most of his words, partly because he knew that it would be talked all over again in a more official setting, and partly because he couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that America's plans aroused in him.

His people deserved a new start, that much he agreed with. But the more he thought about it, the less comfortable he felt with himself as their representation. He had already led them to two devastating wars. After the first one, he had been among those who had sworn something of its kind would never happen again, and yet he had been the one to start an even worse war. As remorseful as he felt now, could he trust himself not to start a third one?

He gritted his teeth. He couldn't tell if he moved according to the will of the people and the government, or if his opinions and actions influenced them. Maybe Prussia could have told him, but he had no idea when he might be able to talk to him again. In either case, wouldn't it be better to play safe and have someone else represent the new Germany?

Of course, that was a silly idea. A nation couldn't be replaced that easily. Germany had never heard of one retiring voluntarily. They didn't die easily; it took generations filled with politics to have them fade away. He didn't wish to die, but right now everything would have been simpler if he could have jumped off a building, walked into a lake or lifted a gun to his head. But it was useless to even try. During the war, he'd suffered injuries that would have killed a normal man, and they had all healed.

Still, as hopeless as it was, the idea was appealing and he clung to it. Many thinkers had said people needed dreams to be happy, and he supposed it was true for their representations as well. Even it was morbid, he couldn't help but think that it would be the best for everyone if someone replaced him as Germany.

He spent the next week trying to get such ideas out of his head, but no rational argument could persuade him to give them up. Every time he looked at his people, the women doing men's work, the children with no parents, the homeless, the hungry, the crippled, the humiliated, he couldn't help thinking that they'd be better off with someone other than him.

He read Prussia's letter over and over again and imagined what the future would be like if it was him to represent Germany instead. At first the idea nearly made him laugh – Prussia was aggressive and loved war, so wouldn't he just make things worse in the long run? – but there was no denying that his brother had also accomplished many great things. His school system had once been one of a kind, and he had had many great thinkers and artists.

Furthermore, if Prussia became Germany, he would live.

Right after his dissolution had been announced, Prussia had told him that it wasn't his fault. His words hadn't stopped Germany from feeling guilty anyway. First his brother had lost his status as a free state, then what had remained had been abolished in the aftermath of the war. Once again, Germany _knew_ he wasn't personally responsible and couldn't have changed anything, but these were times when he didn't know how to make reason win over his emotions.

Giving his people to Prussia would be a compensation for what he had lost and also a thank-you for everything he had done for him over the years. He wanted to say he was grateful and that he was sorry he hadn't lived up to the expectations and become the great nation Prussia had wanted to raise him into.

But this remained a ridiculous fantasy. It couldn't be, so all that was left to do was to accept the reality and try to make the best of it.

* * *

A few days later, Germany's melancholy stroll in the city was interrupted by a sudden scream. He should have been used to screams by now, but he nevertheless whirled around on his heels and began running towards the voice. Others did the same, and they all stopped when they turned a corner and found themselves staring at a body on the ground.

"He jumped!" a woman said, her words muffled by the hands covering her mouth.

Germany moved closer with several of the others following. What he saw made him draw in a sharp breath and take a staggering step back.

It was like he was looking into a mirror. The man on the ground had almost the exact features as him – the blond hair, the strong shape of his face, even the blue eyes that were now devoid of life. It was all getting hidden under the blood that was trickling down his temples and getting into his hair, but Germany nevertheless pressed his hat deeper onto his head to hide the resemblance.

A crazy idea was forming at the back of his mind. If only...

"Who is he? Does anyone know him?" he asked. He searched the man's pocket in a frenzy. No papers or other identification.

At first nobody could give him an answer, but then an elderly man raised his voice. "He showed up a few days ago, tried to find a place to stay. He never told me his name, but he spoke a strange dialect, so I know he wasn't from here. He said he was looking for someone called Helena."

Germany would have liked to spend more time questioning the people, but the commotion was attracting the attention of a few American soldiers who had been near-by, so he slipped away before they'd see him. He nearly ran all the way back to his apartment and slammed the door shut, leaning his back against it and trying to calm his erratic breathing.

This was his chance. It was insane and probably wouldn't even work, but this was his only opportunity to correct at least some of his mistakes. He wouldn't know before he tried, right? And what did he have to lose?

He staggered to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. The tip rested against the white surface as he tried to decide just how to put everything into words so that it was convincing and made sense. He didn't quite trust himself in this state of mind.

Finally, he began to write.

_Effective as of January 20, 1949, I tender my resignation as the personification of the German people. I have thought about this for a long time and believe this to be the only sensible course of action considering the atrocities my past government has committed. I cannot in good conscience expect any other nations, particularly ones such as Poland or France, to maintain civil politics with my people and country if they are represented by the same person who gave a face to so much bloodshed and misery. As such, I believe it is the best for both my people and every other nation if the German people are represented by someone else in the future._

_While nations presumably cannot die without considerable political and social changes, I believe the current conditions should make that possible for me. My people and lands are under foreign rule – not just one, but four – and the people are terrified and uncertain of both their recent past and their future. There could not be a better time for someone else to accept the responsibility of representing them._

_As soon as I am done with this letter, I will attempt to take my life by jumping off a building on Ludwigstraße. Should this be successful, you can request information on my body's location from the authorities._

The resemblance between the nameless man and himself was so great that Germany was almost sure the others would be fooled. Only Prussia would be able to tell them apart, but he wasn't there to identify him. Even if America sent word to Russia right away, Russia would probably suspect it was all a trick to steal Prussia from him. If he agreed to let him go, enough time would have passed to make identification of the body difficult.

He felt a little sorry for the man whose death he was using in such a way, but he reasoned that he wasn't robbing him of anything. His identity was a mystery, so even if he let him be, he was going to end up in a nameless grave, lost forever, like so many others in the past few years. This way he was at least letting him play an important part in building a better future for his country.

_I cede all of my responsibilities as a nation to my brother, who_

Germany's pen stopped. He hated to think of Prussia's reaction. Would he be angry, would he think this was a sign of weakness? Prussia had hammered into his head that a soldier never gave up, but wasn't that exactly what he was doing right now?

No. Germany blinked and frowned to clear his thoughts. This wasn't failure. This was a necessary sacrifice. His feelings didn't matter, and neither did Prussia's. All that was important was the future of the people and the country. Prussia could think whatever he wanted – hate him, mourn him, agree with his decision – but he would have to understand why this was needed.

_has more experience as a nation and at rebuilding a country after a catastrophe. He has a reputation as being aggressive, but he can be sensible when necessary. If I had listened to him more, the need for my decision might not have even surfaced._

_I apologize for any distress that my actions might cause, but I'm sure all of you will realise that I did the right thing._

Germany paused at the end, staring at the empty space at the bottom of the letter. After some hesitation, he decided not to sign the letter and left it there. America would find it when he came to look for him after he missed their next meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 2**

Should he button up his shirt neatly or not?

Prussia frowned at himself in the mirror, his fingers playing with the buttons of the grey fabric. If he lined them nicely, Russia would think he put effort into his appearance when they met, but if he didn't, he would be irritated at himself all through the evening. Even though he hadn't worn a uniform in over a year now, he liked to dress exactly when it was a formal occasion – and he preferred to think that all the times Russia invited him over to drink tea, play vint and discuss the future of Europe were formal.

He had just received a call that Russia wanted him to come over and that he would be sending a car for him. It was an old routine, though Prussia couldn't help feeling a bit miffed that Russia hadn't called him personally this time. It wasn't that he really liked talking with him or anything, but having some secretary contact him made him feel that the other wasn't taking him seriously anymore.

"He'll change his mind when I kick his ass at cards tonight," Prussia muttered and finally decided to button up the shirt the correct way.

His life in Berlin was far from perfect, but he supposed it could have been worse. Sure, he was reduced to an on-looker with no influence as Russia scavenged everything that was even remotely useful and deported it to the Soviet Union, and put people supportive of his politics in charge of everything. But he got to eat and sleep with a roof over his head, luxuries that hadn't been self-evident to a lot of people in recent times, and Russia kept him informed over what he did. Maybe he just liked seeing his frustration when he couldn't do a thing to fight his decisions, but Prussia nevertheless appreciated not being kept in the dark.

The car was waiting for him when he stepped outside. His hand was already on the handle of the backseat door, but then he happened to glance inside. Two men were sitting on the front. That was new. Before, there had always been just the driver. And neither of these men was the gruff lieutenant who never responded to his jokes.

Prussia couldn't think of a pleasant reason for Russia to send two men whom he'd never seen before. He drew his hand back and stepped away from the car.

The front door opened and the man on the passenger's seat poked his head out.

"Aren't you coming? We'll be late."

Another piece that didn't fit. The man was speaking German. Russia had made a point of instructing everyone to use only Russian with him because it amused him to hear him struggle with the language.

"I'll walk this time," Prussia replied.

The man was quiet for a moment and glanced at the driver by his side before turning back towards Prussia.

"Alright."

And just like that, the man drew his head back inside and only a few seconds later, the engine started and the car disappeared down the road. Prussia stared after it with his hands in his pockets and wondered what had just happened. There was an itch somewhere in his gut that told him this had been significant somehow, but he couldn't imagine why.

For a moment, he considered his next move. If Russia had something in store for him, simply not getting into the car had only prolonged the inevitable. He was in no position to run away or fight back if the other decided to do something to him.

"Hell, like I'll just wait and let him do what he wants," he muttered and started marching down the street towards Russia's office. He wouldn't let anyone take him in by force, and he wouldn't hide. He'd kick open the door and demand to know what was going on. The result would be the same, but at least the remains of his dignity would be intact.

Berlin wasn't the happiest place in Germany to be at the moment, but Russia's part of it was the worst. Defeat, fear and uncertainty were thick in the air, and nobody knew what the future would bring. There were those who believed that Russia's politics were what would create a better tomorrow after national socialism, but many others would have preferred to be under British, American or French rule. Prussia didn't like the atmosphere. These people were being cut off from the rest of Germany, and there was nothing he or his brother could do about it.

Despite being in thought, a faint scratching sound caught his attention as he was passing a half-collapsed building, making him glance to his side. Without it, the piece of plank that now struck him in the shoulder would have connected with the back of his head, and that was not how Prussia liked to start a fight.

He ignored the burn in his shoulder and staggered backwards, taking in the situation. The street was empty, save for him and his attacker. The man had tossed his hat and long jacket somewhere, but there was no mistaking him.

"I thought you gave up a little too easily," Prussia said. "Guess you didn't want to make a scene in front of my place, huh?"

He spotted the black car Russia had sent for him a few blocks away. The backdoor was open, like this fool actually thought he'd be able to force the great Prussia inside.

But somehow this still didn't make sense. If these men worked for Russia, what did they care about making a scene? Russia was in charge and didn't have to answer to anyone. It wasn't like this would have been the first violent arrest without a reason. Why not just send half a dozen men to take him down – because that was totally the minimum he needed if he wanted to capture Prussia – and let them do their job?

"I have no idea what you want, but this is a hundred times better than playing cards," Prussia said, unable to stop a grin from forming on his face. He supposed he should have felt cornered since he possessed no weapons, but his hands and wits had been enough for him countless times. And to be honest, right now he didn't care whether he lost or not. Nobody had picked a fight with him since his dissolution, which was the worst thing about the whole ordeal. It was like nobody was taking him seriously anymore.

But here was this guy. The hands holding the plank were firm, his footing was solid and there was a determined gleam in his eyes. He didn't appear nervous even though he was up against a former nation and probably knew it. This could be a good fight. It made Prussia's heart beat faster in a pace that was exciting and familiar, and he adjusted his feet and crouched his back to be better prepared for the next attack.

"We don't have to do it like this," the man said.

"Are you asking me to surrender?"

"I know you won't. I'm just covering my ass so that you won't complain about the bruises afterwards."

Prussia laughed and threw himself into an attack, figuring it was better to take the lead since he had nothing he could use to hit the man. The other didn't seem taken aback by his swift move and dodged his punch by stepping aside, but Prussia had been expecting that. He had just wanted to test the waters.

His opponent swung the plank at him once more, but Prussia was quick on his feet and avoided being hit this time, if only barely. He could feel the brush of air against his ear as the wood missed him, and he knew the man wasn't using his full strength. The blow to his shoulder hadn't been that bad either. For whatever reason, the guy wanted to bring him in in good condition.

Mentally cursing his bad shoes that made his footing slippery, he jumped at the man before he could regain his balance after the failed attack. He caught him in the midsection, and they both fell to the ground with a grunt. The man lifted to plank to hold him off, but Prussia had no trouble forcing it form his hands now that he was on top. He tossed it away and grabbed the man beneath him by the front of his shirt.

"That wasn't a very good show, but you can make up for it by telling me what you want from me," he said.

His demand was met by silence, but he got a sliver of satisfaction from the wince that briefly crossed the man's face. It was nice to know he didn't need to be a nation to be intimidating.

"Come on, don't piss me off any more. You started a fight and then didn't deliver. This is the least you can do to make it worth my time. So, what does Russia want from me and why did he send you?"

"I don't work for Russia," the man said, and the words were almost enough to make Prussia let go in confusion. Who else would send someone to capture him? And why? He wasn't a threat to anyone. He was of no political importance, and that was the only possible motivation that made any sense.

"Then who?" he asked, but before he got an answer, there was a crack, and blinding pain erupted inside his head. He felt himself being shoved aside, and he realised that he had forgotten all about the driver. It was a stupid mistake, made all the more embarrassing by the fact that he had lost count how many times he had fallen into this trap over his long life. One of the few things that could bring his guard down this badly was the chance to gloat.

His head spinning from the blow, he attempted to turn around to face the new opponent, but he was pushed to the ground, and his hands were twisted behind his back, preventing most further struggle. Nevertheless, he squirmed and cursed as much as he could as he felt a thin rope being tied around his wrists, but there was a knee pressed against his lower back, and he could do little else than kick at empty air.

"How bad is it?" his captor asked of the other man.

"I'm fine. He's not as tough as they said he'd be."

The words made Prussia freeze, not because of their meaning but because of the language.

They weren't speaking German anymore, nor Russian. It was English. _English._

"Just who the hell are you?" he asked as he was pulled to his feet and shoved in the direction of the car.

"We've wasted enough time. Someone might have noticed us."

Prussia entered the car voluntarily because he knew there was little choice, but he wanted to give the impression that it was his decision. The driver started the engine even before his companion had slammed the door shut, having taken a seat at the back with Prussia.

"Okay. Explanation time. If you aren't Russia's lackeys, who do you work for? America?"

The fact that neither man denied it was enough of a confirmation. Prussia couldn't decide whether this was a relief or not. America wasn't a bad guy, but the last time he had seen him, there had been a hard, unforgiving look in his eyes. And then there was still the big question.

"What does he want from me?"

"To get you away from the Soviet zone."

"Why?" Prussia couldn't think of a single good reason. America and the others had agreed eagerly when Russia had requested to have him under his watch. What possible reason could they have for wanting him? Maybe they thought Russia wasn't being hard enough on him.

"That's classified information."

"Really, or do you just not know? And why did you attack me? All you had to do was ask me if I felt like going on a trip, and I would have said hell yeah. Do you think I like it here?"

"We felt it was the fastest way. There was no time to explain anything."

"But there was time to fight? You're starting to seem like my kind of guys. Anyway, am I a prisoner?"

"No, but –"

"Then why are my hands tied?"

"To be sure. We have no way of knowing how much the enemy's propaganda has influenced you."

Prussia let out an irritated huff and tried to find a more comfortable position. He turned to stare out the window to see where they were going. They'd be out of Berlin in some fifteen minutes, assuming that nobody stopped them on the way.

"Russia isn't stupid. He's going to notice that I'm not showing up for our tea date."

"We organized a little distraction. He'll be too busy to miss you."

Prussia spent a moment weighing the pros and cons of his situation. His ego was still stinging after such an embarrassing and swift defeat, his hands were going numb, and the thought of kicking the door open, rolling outside and making a run for it was tempting because he hated being dragged along like a prisoner. On the other hand, these men were taking him out of the Soviet zone, and he couldn't come up with a single objection to that.

He'd get to see Germany again.

The two of them hadn't had much contact since he had moved to Russia's part of Berlin. He'd written a couple of letters and nagged at Russia until he had been allowed a phone call, but that was it. He had been told there'd be no visits until the political situation in the country had stabilized, so he hadn't seen his brother in little over a year.

Maybe this was all Germany's doing after all. Maybe he had won America and the others over and requested for his brother to be returned to him? And no wonder they had agreed. It had probably been the excuse they had all been looking for ever since they had realised how much they were missing out without him.

It would be good to have a beer with Germany and maybe get into a brawl, just to show him that there was nothing wrong. Germany had taken his dissolution far worse than him. The silly thing thought he was going to poof out of existence, and no amount of reassuring had convinced him otherwise. Prussia had tried to explain that he hadn't really been a nation since he had given up his kingdom when Germany had become an empire and that if Poland could be drawn and quartered several times and still stand on his own two feet, he could as well. European borders changed every few years. His time would come again.

Germany would understand when he was a little older, but for now Prussia was glad for the chance to go back and remind him that awesome didn't die easily. They'd rebuild the country together and try to atone for the crimes their people had committed. That was another reason he had to return. There was so much blood on their hands, and if he wasn't there, Germany would try to carry the whole weight alone.

About an hour away from Berlin, the car took a turn from the main road and began following a smaller path that soon became so bumpy that it was a wonder if even livestock used it. At first Prussia thought they were just going to have a break, change cars or something like that, but once he saw all the people suddenly pouring out of a lone barn, he realised that something bigger was going on.

One of the men came to open the door for him, and he climbed outside, too curious to care about the fact that his hands were still tied and he had to look anything but dignified or impressive. There was a lot of bustle around the barn with multiple people running around carrying tools, pieces of metal and rope. Then, something began to emerge from inside as they started to pull and push it.

Prussia couldn't help but gape. It was a small fighter plane. He wasn't en expert enough to name the type, but he could tell it wasn't German. It had space to carry two people, and he was pretty sure he'd soon get a much closer look.

"Hey! Prussia!"

He turned his attention from the plane when he heard a familiar voice call out his name. He wasn't surprised to see America running towards him, waving his hand in an attempt to get his attention.

"Glad you made it!" America said as he reached him.

Prussia grimaced and tilted his head down towards his still bound hands."Did I have a choice?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't give us any trouble. We're kind of in a hurry." America produced a knife from his pocket and motioned for Prussia to turn around.

Prussia didn't move. He didn't think America would have him kidnapped and brought him here just to stab him in the back, but he wasn't going to follow any more orders before he knew what he wanted of him.

"Why am I here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, please. You and your buddies were all too happy to get rid of me and send me away. How come you're so eager to have me back now?"

America's eyes darted to the side, and it was enough to tell Prussia that there was something he didn't want to tell him. Maybe there were political problems in the other occupation zones. He didn't get all the latest news, but even he knew that it was only a matter of time before the American, British and French zones merged and became a country and that Russia's zone wouldn't be part of it.

Maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe they were afraid that if he stayed with Russia, he would become the representation of the Soviet zone. If that happened, it would be more difficult to reunite the country later. He couldn't say he was really interested. Trying to create an artificial border and split his brother's people in two wasn't how he wanted to cling to life.

With a frustrated sigh, he showed his wrist to America. Fine, he'd play this game for now. It wasn't like the past few years hadn't taught him how to grovel at the Allies' feet. He could do it a little bit longer to see Germany soon.

America released his hands and pointed excitedly at the plane that was now fully outside and being checked by several men. He explained that the two of them would be flying it all the way to Munich where the others were waiting for them.

"How did you get a plane here in the middle of nowhere?"

"We smuggled it across the border in parts and put it back together here. Genius, huh? Russia never noticed anything!"

"And these people?"

"My boys, all of them! I've got them here undercover. It's not like I can let that crazy commie do whatever he wants without any supervision. But now we've got to hurry. We have to be in the air before anyone notices something's off."

Someone handed Prussia a jacket and headgear, and he put them on, feeling a little self-conscious. He had never been much of a flyer. It was fun, but when it came to war, he preferred being surrounded by his men where he could yell orders at them and hear and feel the flow of the battle. Never mind the fact that people had been able to fly only for about half a century, and as normal as it was now, he could still remember the days when you were a witch if you flew.

He didn't argue when America said he'd be the pilot. Prussia took his place behind him and watched the bustle around them as America's men got everything ready. He spotted the two men who had brought him here and wondered what they'd be doing after they had taken off and if they'd be in trouble. They probably knew what they were doing if America had sent them here, but Russia could be ruthless when he felt someone had wronged him.

All thoughts of the others vanished from his mind when the engine was started and the plane began moving. He held onto his seat until he could no longer feel his fingers and didn't breathe as their speed increased. All of a sudden, there were no more bumps, only an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach as the plane was lifted off the ground.

"You okay?"

It took Prussia a moment to realise that he was hearing America through the radio.

"Perfect! Just admiring the view!"

"Yeah, flying's great, isn't it? I just can't get enough of it."

The enthusiasm in America's voice made Prussia feel a little silly about the fact that his favourite method of getting around in battle was still a horse. There was nothing like working together with a living creature and trusting it to do its work, though he suspected that if cars were more practical in war, he might prefer them. Cars were getting more and more awesome every year.

They finally arrived in Munich and landed. Prussia's little bird dug itself out of his pocket and reclaimed its spot in his hair as soon as he had taken off the headgear and tossed it aside.

One look around told him that they had landed near an American military base. He gritted his teeth and tried to remind himself that it didn't matter and that he wasn't a prisoner, but it did little to ease the irritating itch of knowing that he wasn't in control of the situation. It wasn't America himself that was the problem. He was even a bit surprised by how friendly he was being. He just hated seeing his brother's lands under someone else's control, but he knew he had no right to complain after they had done much worse to their neighbours.

"So, can you now tell me what this is all about?" he asked.

"Let's get into the car first. The others are waiting."

Prussia didn't try to hold back an irritated sigh. Fine. If he wanted a clear picture of what was going on, he might just as well wait until Germany was there to tell him. America would just colour the whole thing with outlandish exaggerations and make it seem like he had just flown an innocent victim out of the enemy zone while being chased by a hundred fighter planes, all for some noble cause that probably didn't even exist.

He felt a little better once the car took them away from the base and they drove into the city. Much of it was in ruins, and he didn't feel at home in Munich – he and Bavaria weren't talking at the moment – but he was glad to be there because it was delightfully devoid of Russia. No more _zavarka_ for him.

He relaxed against the seat and looked out the window, eager to reach their destination. Whatever was going on, he was sure Germany needed him and his advice. The sooner they got there, the sooner he could start making everything better.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the comments, faves and alerts!

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 3**

Prussia followed America out of the car and into a tall building with the flags of the Allies (well, three of them) swaying above the entrance. There was nobody to greet them when they arrived, which was a bit of a let-down. He hadn't expected Germany to be waiting outside since he probably thought it was unprofessional to show emotion like that, and Prussia could respect that mindset, but part of him had been hopeful.

He pushed open the large double doors and stepped into a conference room. He stopped to stand by the door with his hands on his hips and hoped that he made a more impressive figure than the last time he had stood before the Allies.

"Alright, I've arrived! Now things can finally get started as soon as you tell me what this is all about. I hope it's something cool!"

His outburst got no reaction out of the people in the room. France and England had been seated, but they had both stood up upon his entrance. There was a long table in the room, a white tablecloth running along its middle. A stack of papers stood near the leftmost end, but other than that, Prussia couldn't see anything that would indicate something important was going on.

"Where's West?"

England ignored the question and nodded at America. "Everything went well, then?"

"Yeah, no problems whatsoever. No surprise. Like that commie would ever figure us out!"

"Hey!" Prussia snapped and gestured at the nearly empty room. "I asked, where's West? Don't you dare tell me he thinks doing paperwork is more important than witnessing his brother's glorious return!"

England cleared his throat. "About that... That is actually the reason we brought you here."

Prussia didn't like the tone of England's voice, nor his posture. And France hadn't said a word yet. They both looked defeated, which was at least twenty kinds of messed up since they were the winners of the war. They had dictated what would happen to his brother's lands and people. They had dissolved him. They held all the power, and yet here they were, both looking like they needed his permission to speak.

Usually, Prussia loved power. Watching his enemies quiver before him made his heart race and was nearly the most satisfying feeling in the world, second only to the rush of battle. But now he felt sick. Their behaviour was so wrong for those who were meant to be victorious.

"Where's West?" he asked again, willing his voice to stay steady. "Haha, is he so busy with work that you had to bail me out of the Soviet zone just to help him? Is that why he can't even be bothered to come and say hello?"

"No, that's not it." France's voice was as he remembered it, but it unnerved him how he wouldn't look him in the eyes as he spoke. "And I think you should sit before we continue."

"I'll stand," Prussia announced. Sitting was for the old and the weak and invalids, and he didn't didn't belong to any of those groups yet. "And now you're going to tell me exactly what's going on!"

"Alright, I suppose there's no point in beating around the bush." England let his gaze meet that of his allies, as if looking for confirmation, and turned his eyes back to Prussia. "Germany is dead."

It took a moment before Prussia registered the words, but once he did, there was only one possible reaction. He felt his lips spread into a grin that soon gave way to barking laughter that shook his entire body.

"That's real great!" he managed between gulps of breath. "Do you think you're being funny? Do you think I'm going to buy that?"

"Sorry, but we aren't joking," America remarked by his side.

"Bullshit. How could West be dead? I'm the one who got dissolved, and I'm still here!"

"It's unusual, but we have a theory on why it happened. We can explain everything," England said. He took something from the pile of papers on the table and offered it to him. "First, I think you should read this."

Prussia took the sheet of paper and began to read. He recognised Germany's handwriting, precise and neat to the point that he had used to tease him about being better than a typewriter. But the funny memory faded the moment he read the first few words, announcing his brother's resignation as the nation of Germany.

"What?" he asked, but he didn't tear his eyes from the letter, not even after he had read it to the end, only to start all over again. "What the hell is this?"

"We didn't want to believe it either, but –"

"West wouldn't do this! This is fake! You faked it, and you're keeping him locked up somewhere because... I don't know, this is stupid!"

"We wouldn't lie about something like this," America pointed out.

"And why not? Maybe you're trying to teach me a lesson. Maybe... Maybe you think I have to go through this after all the deaths and torture and suffering our people caused. That's it, isn't? I bet you've done the same with West. You've told him that I faded away in Russia's care, right?"

"Are you done?" England asked with a hint of impatience in his voice. "We could spend a long time discussing whether you deserve this or not, but the fact remains that it's true. Germany is gone."

"Really? So, where's the body?"

"We buried him."

"Well, isn't that convenient?" Prussia asked, crumbling the suicide note into a tiny ball and tossing it on the table.

"He was beginning to decay! It took us nearly two days to find him, and he wasn't in good shape. He had jumped off a building," France said. "Part of his face was –"

"Take a look yourself," England cut him off and took something else from the pile on the table.

It was an envelope, which Prussia accepted simply because he couldn't wait to laugh at more of their fake evidence. Inside it there were several photos, and as he realised what was in them, he nearly wished he had accepted that offer to sit earlier.

All of the pictures showed a body lying on a medical table. The angle was different in each shot, but every photo presented him with a good look at features that were painfully familiar. It was Germany, eyes closed and with a third of his face dark and bruised from the impact of falling to the ground. That wasn't what made Prussia's knees wobbly; he'd seen his brother with worse injuries over the years. But never before had his brother appeared so lifeless, so limp, so small. The grey tones of the photo only made it worse.

"This is fake, too," he said hoarsely. "You drugged him, and then a bit of make-up and..."

France shook his head. "No. We wouldn't lie about something like this. I'm sorry."

Even though he didn't want to, Prussia felt compelled to believe France. Hell, if only he had kept his mouth shut. It was easy to pretend that England and America might be shitty enough to try something like this, but not France. They had been at each other's throats and taking a figurative piss on each other's lands for so many years now, but their friendship was still alive under all the war and bloodshed. If France was lying about this of all things, that would finally be the end of their camaraderie. But if he _wasn't_ lying...

"No. It's a trick. You've got some plan and you're trying to lure me into a trap, to make me vulnerable or –"

"We have no need for that," England said. "You aren't a threat to any of us, and we don't want revenge. Many of our people understandably do, and so do some of our leaders. We are above that because we remember so many generations and know how quickly time moves forward. You know this as well."

"But –"

"I can only imagine how you feel. I don't know what I would do if... yes, well..." England cleared his throat, avoiding looking at anyone, at America in particular. "What I'm trying to say is that there's no doubt about it. Germany is gone, by his own hand no less."

"But he wouldn't do that! I know him! I taught him never to give up. He's a soldier," Prussia insisted.

"He was young. We forgot just _how_ young. I suppose the scope of the war and its consequences were too much for him to bear. The past few years have been a shock even to us who've seen more wars than we can count."

Prussia gritted his teeth and thought back to the words in his brother's letter. The text had been dripping with guilt and remorse but also the kind of resigned determination that he knew to expect from Germany. The idiot. The fucking idiot. It wasn't at all difficult to imagine him sitting before his desk and writing the letter, genuinely thinking that he alone was to blame for everything and that his death would atone for it.

"How could you let him do it?" he asked. "How were you treating him if he thought this was the best option he had?"

"We didn't notice anything. He never said anything was wrong, and he seemed so normal. I mean, normal considering the circumstances. I guess he was a bit gloomy sometimes, but I figured it was just because of... well, everything that's happened," America said.

Prussia looked again at the photos in his hand, not tearing his eyes away even when he was sure the sight would make him choke on his own breath.

"How could he die? Even if there's no country or government for him right now, the people are there. And it was only a matter of time before the occupation zones would unite. He shouldn't have been able to to die," he said.

"You just answered your own question. Like he said in his letter, the unstable political atmosphere and uncertainty no doubt weakened his connection to his land and people to the point that he was able to severe it. I can't recall ever encountering this before, but it makes sense," England said.

Prussia swallowed the lump in his throat and put the photos back into the envelope, which he then tossed on the table. He clasped his hands together behind his back to hide how much they were shaking. He wanted to scream, to tear someone apart with his bare hands or – he didn't even know what, only that he had to let this sudden, blinding pain out before it burned him to ashes from the inside. But for as long as the others were here, he had to hold onto his composure. Nation or not, the great Prussia never fell apart in a meeting.

"Alright. What now? Are you going to fly me back to Berlin now that you've told me the news or what?"

The others glanced at each other. This time it was America who decided to do the talking.

"Actually, we didn't bring you here just to tell you about this. Remember the letter?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, well he named you as his successor. That's why you're here. We can't let Russia have the representation of Germany in his hands, can we?"

"What? You want me to... But... No. No way! That's not going to work!" Prussia could barely make his mind connect America's words together into anything coherent. They couldn't be asking that of him. He couldn't. He didn't want to.

"That's what Germany ordered," England pointed out.

"But... I can't do it! I'm Prussia! Germany was born so that all the German states could unite. That was the whole point, that there should be someone new to represent us all. How could I suddenly become Germany when so many of this country's people have never been mine?"

"That's beside the point. They aren't going to become Prussian," England said. "You're going to become Germany."

Prussia let out an impatient sound. "You just dissolved me and said I was too militaristic for Europe's safety. Now you want to give me a whole new country? Make up your minds!" He drew a deep breath, tried to calm down and search his head for logical arguments. "You don't have to do it just because West said so, you know. I mean, there's Bavaria. Ask him! Or anyone else! I'm not the only jobless former German state!"

"We already discussed that, and we think you're the best choice. Prussia was once one of the most powerful countries in Europe, so you have more than enough experience. You know how to lift up a country from ruins. Germany named you. You were closer to him than any of the others. Prussia played an important role within the German Empire. Your last king was Germany's first emperor. It's only natural that you continue his work. Is that enough reasons?"

England listed his points so methodologically that Prussia was sure he had prepared for it long in advance. He clenched his fists at every word that left the other's mouth, willing himself to come up with a counter argument, but all that came to him was that this was wrong and he didn't want any of it.

He wasn't supposed to stand here and listen to this. Making plans for Germany's future wasn't his job. It was his brother's. How could everything have got so fucked up that Germany had... That his stupid, naïve, idiotically sincere brother had done this and left him such a burden to bear?

"I don't want to think about this right now," he said. He _couldn't._

The others looked at each other before England spoke.

"It's a lot to digest. We can continue this tomorrow. And sooner or later we're going to have to tell Russia and the rest of the world what has happened. We've prepared quarters for you, but you may want to spend a moment alone at first. There will be a car waiting for you at the front when you're ready."

And that was it. The end of the meeting. France walked straight out without a word, but England and America lingered. England began to organize the pile of papers on the table whereas America came to give Prussia a pat on the shoulder.

"Sorry, man. It must really suck. I know he wasn't a bad guy despite all that happened, and neither are you. Things just went really, really wrong. We're going to have to start fixing it, and I'm sure all's going to work out. You aren't going to have do all this alone. I've got so many good plans for you! We can talk about them when you're feeling a little better, okay?"

It took all of Prussia's willpower not to smash America's nose. The glare he sent his way made him withdraw his hand, but some of his enthusiasm remained.

"It's going to get better," America said and gave him a thumbs-up. "You probably hate me for saying it now, but I promise it will!"

"I think that's enough," England remarked, having finished his work with the papers. He waited in silence until America had left the room and then turned to face Prussia, keeping the table between them.

"I hope you don't think that I'm being cold as some form of revenge or that I don't care about what happened. It's simply that someone here has to be able to think clearly, and right now I'm the only one who can do it," he said. "America is... He means well, but I don't think he has quite realised how serious this all is. He thinks he can fix everything. And France, well, you two should talk when you're feeling up to it."

"He didn't seem very talkative just now."

England sighed. "He probably blames himself. He was very hard on Germany after the war. Don't for a moment think I care about the frog's mental well-being, but the last thing we need right now is a broken ally. So, talk to him."

"And what if I blame him, too?"

"Do you?"

Prussia couldn't say. His mind was a mess of severed thoughts, and adding France to the mix was too exhausting. He covered his face into his hands and rubbed his temples before moving his fingers up to his hair.

"I don't know."

"I'll let you think about it, then." England started to leave but then stopped after a few steps. "I'll leave the papers here. There are more documents related to the case. You may want to take a look at them at some point. You can take them with you when you leave."

Prussia remained standing where he was long after the door had closed after England. He tried to make sense of everything that he had just learned, but he couldn't focus on a single idea long enough to build the whole picture. Germany. Dead. Suicide. His little brother. Gone.

He drew a determined breath and approached the pile of papers on the table. Duty first. He had to know exactly what had happened.

Soon, he had everything laid out before him. All of the photos, the crumbled suicide note, the other papers England had left behind. The coroner's report was brief and listed the cause of death as a snapped neck. More damage to the body was mentioned – broken ribs, fractured skull, internal bleeding – and Prussia read it all several times until he had it memorized, no matter how tight it made his own chest. He compared the injuries to the photos, even if it was difficult to make out all the details in the shots.

There was a copy of the papers that explained where the others had buried Germany. It was a small cemetery whose location Prussia didn't even know, but someone had scribbled on the margins and explained that it was temporary and that he was welcome to move the remains wherever he liked later.

The gesture meant more to him than the others probably realised. He had been unable to lay Frederick to rest where the king had wanted. At least he could do it to his brother. He'd just have to find a good place. Only the best was enough. Somewhere that was important to Germany. And the epitaph would say...

The thought of having to decide what to write on the tombstone was like a sword through his chest. He had to grasp the table for support and cover his mouth to stop an anguished wail from escaping. He fought to keep himself from falling to his knees, but the battle was lost with the first angry sob that broke through his fingers. He collapsed to the floor, bringing some of the photos and documents with him.

"Damn you, West," he managed to choke out. Why did he have to go and do something like that? Hadn't he seen any other way to fix things? Hadn't he realised how much worse this made everything? And hadn't he considered how much he would be missed?

He should have been there to look after him. No matter how much Germany had liked to consider himself an adult, he had been young by nations' standards. Of course he had taken it all to heart and thought he was the personification of all of his people's crimes, blame and disgrace. Prussia should have been there to show him otherwise.

I'm sorry, he thought, unable to voice the words. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Just like he had guided Germany when he had been little, he should have walked him through the aftermath of the darkest period of his history. He shouldn't have left him alone with only destruction, enemies and guilt for company. He should have struck some kind of deal with Russia. Maybe if he had pleaded convincingly enough, he would have allowed him to stay for a while. But he had thought going with him had been the right choice, that Germany needed to see he wasn't broken by his dissolution and that he wasn't afraid. He had been sure it would inspire him to stay just as strong with America and the others.

Death was no stranger to Prussia. He had a bad habit of growing overly fond of the humans around him. He had watched nations disappear. The Germanic family was huge, and he wasn't sure if he could even name all of his brothers and sisters, some of whom had succumbed to the gears of time and changing borders and identities.

But Germany was special. The rest of them had always been squabbling amongst each other, forming countless alliances and then breaking them. They had been connected through a shared language or variants of it and similar culture, and finally their people had started developing a common identity. Germany had been born out of that idea; he had been meant to gather everyone together and represent them.

Prussia had never seen the point in trying to fight that inevitable process. Rather, he had figured the best way to ensure his own survival was to make himself necessary by claiming the place as Germany's guardian. His interests had been selfish at first, but damn, it hadn't taken long before the kid had had him eating out of his hand. Over the course of his history, plenty of people had liked him, had claimed to love him, had even looked at him with that same trust and devotion as that little boy. But never before had he found himself returning the feelings that unconditionally.

Germany had been his brother in a way that nobody ever had. Prussia had taught him to ride, to fight, to shave, to drink, and would have taught him how to bed women if Germany hadn't been such a shrinking violet about it. The blind belief in him had eventually crumbled, but it hadn't torn them apart like often happened when one nation sought independence from another. They'd had each other's back through every battle and every political change. They had worked together to pay as much of the horrendous reparations of the previous war as they could.

And this was where it had all ended, all because of him. He had failed at being the brother he had sworn to be. He should have been there to assure Germany that even if this was the most horrible and shameful period in his country's history, it wasn't the end.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice breaking, his throat sore. That this truly _wasn't_ the end was perhaps the most horrifying thing about it. He'd have to pick up the pieces and keep living without his brother. He hadn't thought such anguish possible – Germany had been supposed to live forever and keep the people and the land united, even if all the rest of them had to disappear.

But now he was gone, and Prussia had never felt so alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 4**

"It's not fair!"

"We've been through this –"

"No!" The word was emphasized by the crack of a pipe against the wooden table. "You're not playing nice! We agreed that I'd get Prussia!"

America made a face at Russia from the other side of the long conference table. "Yeah? Well, things have changed now and –"

"Everything is still exactly like we agreed," England cut him off, his voice thick with impatience.

They had been at this for a while now, and no progress whatsoever had been made. Normally, Prussia would have considered it amusing to watch the winners of a war he had lost bicker amongst each other, but now he couldn't bring himself to even crack a smirk.

"How is that?" Russia asked.

"We agreed that we'd watch over Germany and you'd look after Prussia. But as things stand now, Prussia won't be Prussia for much longer. He will become Germany, so it is only right that he stays in our zones," England explained.

Russia's face scrunched up in displeasure. "That's exactly the kind of mean trickery I should have known to expect from you. You were my allies only until it you no longer needed me."

"Who would want to be your ally otherwise? Even in those circumstances it was making me sick," America said.

"Even so, you're cheating! I had plans for Prussia! I'm never letting my zone join yours, so I was going to make him its representation. Just because you didn't know how to look after your Germany and broke him doesn't mean you have the right to take away mine!"

"He's not yours!"

It was only two days since America had flown him to Munich, but they had felt like two centuries. Until this meeting, he hadn't had anything to do but sit in his quarters and go through the documents detailing Germany's death like a madman. He knew it all by heart now. When he closed his eyes, the papers immediately appeared, every inked letter glaring at him.

As much as the bickering of the others angered him, he preferred the meeting to solitude. The dull ache and sense of something missing were numbed when he had other matters to think about. He had tried to work himself into a rage and blame everyone else for what happened to Germany, but he wasn't as self-centred as everyone always said he was. All the loathing he felt was really for himself; he was just trying to direct it elsewhere because it was too painful and would consume him if he let it. He had already failed as a nation when he and Germany had led their people to a war unlike any other, and then he had failed as a brother as well. There was little left to be proud of.

But maybe there could be something to work on. Listening to the bickering of the others made his anger rise, not just because they weren't even asking for his opinion and kept talking like he wasn't there or didn't matter. What really got under his skin was how the others, particularly Russia and America, were dismissing the German people. To the two of them, the future of Germany was a political power struggle. They didn't care that a nation was in the process of being torn apart by an artificial border.

And why should they? These weren't their people. Germany was supposed to personify them and look after them. But he wasn't here anymore.

For the first time since he had been told the news, Prussia found himself considering his brother's last request seriously. He didn't want to become the people's new representation – and part of him refused to believe it was even possible – but someone had to do it. Someone had to look after his brother's people.

"Will you all shut up for a minute?" he called out, speaking for the first time since his half-hearted greeting at Russia in the beginning.

Everyone turned to look at him. Their expressions revealed that at least America and Russia had forgotten he was even present.

"Stop talking about West's people like you're going to divide them! I don't care about your stupid border. If I'm going to take Germany's place, I'm going to take all of his people, too." He turned to glare at Russia. "And you can forget your plans of finding someone to represent your zone. I can multi-task until you've come to your senses and allowed your part to join the rest."

Russia didn't seem bothered by his outburst. "Or until you decide to join my side of Germany."

"Not going to happen."

"And why not? Guilt over his crimes is what drove your brother to suicide. The so called denazification is a joke. You have criminals all over in important positions, only because America is scared that punishing them justly will leave those positions open for people who are sympathetic to me. Isn't that a little two-faced? Why would you want to build a country where the people whose actions are the cause of your brother's death are in power?"

Prussia gritted his teeth at Russia's words and especially his knowing smile. He had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. But Prussia was old enough to know that he couldn't fix a hole in his jacket by cutting out a piece of his pants and sewing it on. The options Russia offered were different from what they'd had so far and might be a fix for some problems, but he didn't want to learn what new trouble they'd create.

"Sounds like choosing between two evils, and you're an idiot if you think I'll pick you."

Russia's smile didn't even waver. "It's a little arrogant to call us evil when we're still picking up the pieces after all the suffering you caused." He turned towards England and France. "Isn't that right?"

"This discussion is going nowhere," England muttered.

"So, you'd rather close your eyes from the plain truth as well. What a pity. But I'm sure France will agree with me. You knew that Germany was to blame for everything, and you did such a good job of making everyone aware of how you felt."

"Don't talk to me," France said, sending a tired glare at Russia.

Prussia and France hadn't seen each other since the meeting where he had been informed of Germany's situation. He didn't mind. If something was bothering France, then it was his job to make the first move. Prussia didn't trust himself to seek him out without punching him before either of them got a word out. Maybe later when the sight of his friend didn't make him feel like his throat was swelling with anguish to the point that he couldn't breathe.

America raised his hand. "I'm with Prussia. The Federal Republic of Germany is never going to join you crazies!"

"Nice name," Russia remarked. "But mine is better. I've decided to call my part the German Democratic Republic."

"Like you even know what democracy means!"

"More than you do."

Prussia drew in a deep breath and wished the others would trust him enough to let him carry weapons. Anything to have some kind of power in the room, but he figured he was in for a long time of watching as stronger nations fought. He had always won his battles through violence. That was what he had been born to do. Now he wasn't even allowed to have an army.

West could have laid the foundations for a new, better and democratic Germany, he thought. He had been young. He could have adapted. Prussia was sure he could as well, but it would be like pushing a cannon up a hill, every muscle protesting and with the taste of blood in his mouth.

But he'd do it, he decided. No matter if he ended up gritting his teeth to dust or scraped his knees raw from grovelling before the Allies, he'd be there for his brother's people and take them as his own. He'd give up the tattered scraps of what there was left of Prussia if necessary. And no matter how long it took, he'd make sure the border between east and west would disappear. That was his new battle, one that he would have to learn to fight in meeting rooms.

I promise, West, he thought as he kept listening to the others plan his future. His brother hadn't placed his trust on him in vain.

Prussia spent the following week trying to adjust to the new position he would soon have to take. It was still about a month until the Federal Republic of Germany would officially come into being, but he was already talking to those who would play an important role in its future. He found himself torn between different ideas. Men like Adenauer wanted strong orientation towards the western powers, which Prussia knew was the best direction for the country. At the same time, Schumacher and the others were right to claim that such an approach would create a larger division between the two German states and make unification more difficult.

There were also personal tasks for him to carry out. He cleaned out the house he and Germany had shared in Berlin and put away everything that had to do with Prussia. This wasn't the first time he changed his name and status, but it had never been as artificial as this. His old uniforms, some personal letters, his favourite sword, Frederick's tobacco box – it all had to go if he wanted to become Germany.

News of Germany's death spread quickly, and he soon found himself bombarded with disbelieving and regretful condolences. A few nations weren't kind in their letters, but Prussia replied to those as well, maintaining a distant and professional tone. Afterwards he went and nearly broke his hand punching a wall where a portrait of Bismarck had been before he'd taken it down.

All things considered, he couldn't say he was surprised when he found Italy standing on his doorstep one day. He and Germany had grown ridiculously close in the past few decades, even to the point that Prussia hadn't known whether to feel proud or jealous and if the latter, why. The war hadn't ended well for Germany and Italy's friendship, but he had come anyway, looking up at him with sad eyes and shivering like he was freezing.

What did surprise him, however, was that Italy was accompanied by his brother. Their country was going through a hard time as well, so Prussia had thought Romano would stay home and look over things while his brother came to mourn. But here he was. He was standing right behind his brother and glaring at Prussia in a way that immediately let him know that he wasn't here because he had any warm feelings for Germany or him.

"Well, aren't you going to let us in?" Romano asked.

"Why are you here?"

"What do you think, asshole? Let us in so that we can get this over with!"

Romano looked furious enough to give him a shove if he didn't move soon, and normally Prussia would have welcomed the chance to beat the crap out of someone, especially the loud-mouthed southern Italy and his attitude problem. But the younger half was there, and he didn't want to make him any more upset than he already was.

"Sure, come in," he said and stepped aside. He closed the door once the both of them had entered and led them to the small space that he had decided to call his living room. "Sorry, it kind of looks like crap now, but I'll get a better place once... once the country has been officially founded and stuff. When I'm a nation again."

He expected an insult from Romano, but the other simply walked to the nearest chair, threw his weight on it and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Now do what you came here to do," he said to Italy, his voice softer than when he had been talking to Prussia.

"Are you really going to do it?" Italy asked. "Are you going to become Germany?"

"That's what he wanted, and I was never any good at saying no to him."

"Then he's... then he's really..."

Prussia grabbed Italy's shoulders and directed him towards the free chair opposite Romano. Italy sat down, still looking at Prussia with the faintest trace of hope on his face. He'd rather have all his friends and family be cruel liars than face the fact that Germany was gone. Prussia briefly thought of France and found the whole situation sickening.

"He's dead," he said bluntly. "I'm sorry, Ita-cakes, but that's how it is."

Italy let out a shuddering sigh and reached up to wipe at his eyes with his palms. "That's not fair. I know I got upset at him after what you two did to us, and I yelled at him to go away, but I didn't want him to die!"

Prussia lifted his brows in surprise, not sure how to react. He had a pretty good guess that Romano would try to skin him alive if he as much as touched Italy, but right now it looked like he was in need of someone holding him.

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," he said and knelt on the floor by Italy's chair. "You had every right to be upset, and you aren't the only one. That war got ugly really fast."

A snort from Romano revealed what he thought of that.

"I know, but I still feel bad about it. He was my friend and I let him die thinking that I hated him!"

"I'm sure –" Prussia started, but he was cut off when Italy threw himself at him, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and buried his face into his hair. The sudden contact made Prussia tense, and for a moment he wasn't sure what to do. Comforting others had never been his forte, and especially now when his own feelings were still so raw, he just didn't know what he could do to make Italy feel better.

"And he was so young. He still had so many things a nation should do, but now everyone is going to remember just the wars and forget that he could bake the best cakes and that he loved playing with dogs and that he was really nice except when he was yelling orders!"

Italy's hold around his shoulders tightened, and Prussia found himself leaning into his touch. This moment was just as much for his sake as Italy's, he realised. He didn't want to let anyone see him cry, so he fought against the persistent sting of his eyes and focused on being the stronger one.

He took one glance at Romano, but the other wasn't even looking at them. He was still sitting with his frame stiff with anger, glaring at the ceiling. That worked well for Prussia as he had no interest in hearing his comments. He turned his attention back to Italy's babbling and the comfort of knowing that he wasn't the only one who missed Germany and that to someone other than him, this was more than politics.

Finally, Italy pulled away, still sniffling and looked at Prussia with swollen eyes, but there was a hint of something on his face that made him seem a little less devastated than a moment earlier.

"I'm going to make food," he announced and got up. "Where's the kitchen?"

"Over there, but you don't have to –"

"Let him do whatever he wants. I doubt he can put anything edible together with your shit ingredients, but the least you can do is offer us something after we came all the way here," Romano remarked sulkily. "And doing something with his hands is going to calm him down."

Prussia supposed he had a point. Besides, cleaning up in the kitchen would help him relax later. He was about to follow Italy into the kitchen, but Romano grabbed his arm as he was passing him.

"I'm going to have a word with you," he announced. He stood up and pointed towards the front door.

"Well, what?" Prussia asked a moment later when they were outside where Italy couldn't hear them if they kept their voices down.

Romano let out an angry huff and directed an accusing glare at him. "This is second fucking time you bastards do this to him!"

It took a moment before Prussia registered what Romano was even talking about, and he immediately felt like a fool. He honestly hadn't made the connection, maybe because there were so many Germanic nations who had disappeared over the years, maybe because he hadn't wanted to think about it. The Holy Roman Empire had never been his brother the same way Germany had, but he should have remembered how close he had been to Italy.

"We didn't plan this!"

"I don't give a damn. Veneziano is stupid and trusts people too easily, and I'm sick of your lot always pulling him along and then breaking his heart! But this was the last time." Romano's eyes were hard with anger, and he actually found the courage to take a step closer and poke a finger at Prussia's chest. "Whatever diplomatic relations we're going to have with you are going to go through me. You won't have any contact with Veneziano, and the same goes for Austria and Switzerland and all the rest of you!"

"What, you're going to lock him up from the outside world to protect him or something?"

"No. I won't have to because you're going to leave him alone. The world is full of decent nations he can be friends with."

"But if he wants to be friends with me, what right do you have to stop him?"

Romano considered these words for a brief moment. "Come on, don't be dumb. Veneziano liked your brother, not you. You've known him for centuries, but he wasn't your friend before he got close to Germany. You have nothing to give him, except memories that he can't forget fast enough. So, piss off and keep your distance! Your kind has caused us nothing but trouble."

"I don't have to take orders from you," Prussia growled. He knew there was a point to what Romano was saying – he had always been fond of Italy and had tried to get close to him on more than one occasion, but the other had avoided his attentions so easily that he didn't know if he was so dumb he didn't know what Prussia wanted or so skilled that he could make it look like that. Either way, there was no denying that somehow Germany had won him over and forged a strong friendship with him. Prussia couldn't hope to have that kind of relationship with Italy.

Nor did he want to, he realised. He was Germany's successor, but he wasn't going to be his replacement. If politics allowed, he wanted to keep his old friends and acquaintances and especially his enemies.

"Now listen here," he said and slapped Romano's finger away. "I don't have to do anything just because you say so! But for what it's worth, I have no plans to play a second Germany to him. I'm me!"

But even as he said those words, they rang untrue in his ears. How long would he be able to say the was the same person when he was forcing himself into a role that wasn't meant for him? Once he became Germany, how much would be left of the old him?

Romano made an unimpressed face, but the answer seemed to have satisfied him because he retreated and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Be whoever you want to be, just stay away from my brother."

With that, he turned his back on him and retreated into the house, presumably to help Italy in the kitchen. Prussia remained outside and leaned his back against the front door so that he could take in the street before him. He was currently living in Frankfurt am Main, but he was hoping he could go back to Berlin later, even if it was a divided city and wouldn't become his capital.

He had left the kitchen window open, so when something fell to the floor, he could hear the crash and the following string of loud Italian. A sudden wave of jealousy washed over him and left him clenching his fists and raising his eyes to the top of the building across the street so that he wouldn't have to look at anyone.

He wondered if Italy and Romano realised how lucky they were.


	5. Chapter 5

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 5**

"Otto! Otto!"

The youthful voice reached Germany's ears long before the sound of running steps against a gravelled road. He looked up from his work of chopping firewood and waited until the sight of a young woman became visible from behind the cottage he was still learning to call his.

He gave her a nod and a small smile as a greeting. Her name was Hanna Berg, and she was the middle daughter of the family that lived the closest to him. He didn't quite want to call them neighbours since it was a good fifteen minute's walk from his cottage to the village where they lived, but he supposed that was the closest matching definition, particularly since the family certainly was treating him as such.

"What is it?" he asked when the woman reached him, her cheeks rosy and her hair messy, showing that she had run all the way from her home.

"You know what it is! It's all everyone has been talking about!"

Of course Germany knew. Even here, in this small village at the roots of the mountains in southern Bavaria, there was no escaping news of the political developments that were taking place. The American, British and French occupation zones had become a country, and today was the day when the Federal Republic of Germany would be officially established.

No, that wasn't right. Today was the day when it _had _been established. Shadows were already growing longer, so Germany was sure every paper had been signed and that the meeting rooms were empty by now.

"I take it was interesting," he said. He had been asked to join the others at the guesthouse and listen to news on the radio. It had been tempting, but he had known better than to accept. He had given up all of his rights to the people and the land, so he hadn't been sure what would happen to him once they were officially handed over to his brother. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself by having some sort of fit in front of everybody.

At least he hoped the people were now Prussia's. He had been alert all through the day, waiting for sudden pain or nausea that would prove his link to them had been severed. There had been nothing, and it worried him. Even Prussia, who was so proud, had stumbled when he had been dissolved. Surely he should have felt _something._

There were only two possible explanations he could think of. One was that his last wish had been ignored and Prussia wasn't the nation's new representation. Maybe he was still in Berlin with Russia. Maybe he didn't even know that his brother was dead.

The second option, which he wanted to believe more than anything, was that he hadn't noticed the change because he had willingly resigned as a nation. He had already given up everything when he had written his letter and left, so there had been nothing to lose when Prussia had replaced him. That had to be it. His brother was now Germany and would raise the nation back to its feet.

"How can you not be interested in what's happening?" Hanna asked in an exasperated tone. She brought him bread twice a week in exchange for him chopping firewood for the family, which her father could no longer do as he had been injured in the war. Every time, she stayed to chat even though Germany had tried his best to be polite but unapproachable.

"It no longer matters to me what happens in the world as long as I get to live without anyone bothering me," he said. The only detail that he was desperate to know what whether Prussia was doing fine, but he knew he couldn't confirm that without risking being discovered. Maybe if no longer being a nation made him age, he could try and find him after a decade or two when he wouldn't be recognised anymore.

Hanna said nothing more of the matter. When he had arrived in the village about a month earlier, he hadn't told the people much about where he was coming from and why. They probably assumed something had happened to him during the war, but nobody had asked whether he had been the victim or the aggressor. There were few who wanted to talk about such matters if they didn't have to – everyone just yearned for life to be normal again.

He had assumed the name of Otto Müller and did odd jobs here and there to get by. His life was simple and in no way exciting, but it felt good to use his hands for something productive, something that helped the people around him. The spokesperson for the village council had helped him get identification papers, and everyone had accepted him among them without hesitation. He was surprised it had been that easy, but he supposed the villagers were simply happy to have a young, capable man among them after so many had failed to come back home after the war.

"I don't know if I can finish all the firewood today. I thought you'd be coming for it tomorrow," he said.

"That's not why I'm here. Father sent me to say that he wants to talk to you."

"Oh? What is it?"

"I don't know. He doesn't tell me these things."

Germany struck his axe into the block of wood. It was almost time to stop working anyway.

"I'll walk you back home and see what he wants," he suggested.

The village wasn't big, only about two dozen houses nestled in a valley, far away from civilization. It was unlikely anyone of importance would ever stumble upon it, so Germany was sure it was the perfect hiding place for him. He could spend at least the next ten years there and seek out another similar place in case the years didn't start painting their mark on his face. At this point, he had no way of telling whether he had become a mortal or a former nation who somehow clung to life but served no purpose any longer.

He tried not to think about his own death too much. When he couldn't help himself, he attempted to be as logical as possible. It wouldn't be the end. It was only a few years ago that he had met the Roman Empire, so there had to be something for nations who weren't needed on Earth anymore. Whether he deserved the comfort of the knowledge was an entirely different matter, but he was grateful for it.

An even bigger source of conflict for him were the people of the village. He had been hoping to withdraw into loneliness and spend his days drawing as little attention to himself as possible, but the people made it more difficult by the day. Whenever he went to the village to run errands, they stopped him in the street to talk about the weather or their work. If he accepted every invitation to dinner, he would never eat at his cottage. Everyone was so friendly even though he was a stranger who refused to talk about his past. They should have been frightened of him, and yet they had accepted him as one of their own.

They arrived at the house where Hanna's family lived. Her father was sitting in the kitchen and carving something out of a block of wood. There wasn't any work for him these days, but he earned a little by making toys and sending them to town to be sold once a month. Hanna had told Germany that her father had been a tall and proud man when he had gone to war. Now Hans Berg sat with his shoulders hunched and his back twisted, like his body was trying to fold into two. The cane he needed to walk was resting against the table, and he grabbed it and struggled to his feet when Germany entered.

"Please don't get up," Germany said, but there was no stopping the man.

"Nonsense. We aren't talking here in the kitchen with women and children around."

Germany said nothing more, only stepped aside to let Hans limp past him outside. The house wasn't big enough to have a living room or a study – few farmers had need for such things, and all available space was for housing the large family. They walked behind the house, and Germany suppressed the desire to support Hans as he stumbled and nearly fell. He had tried that when they had met for the first time, but he had quickly learned that his pride could be compared to Prussia's and that any attempt to help was a painful insult.

"Hanna said there's something you wanted to talk about," he said. Maybe the family needed more firewood, or maybe there was some other work that Hans wanted him to do.

"Yes. I've discussed it with the others, and we've decided that we'd like you to join the village council."

Germany was so surprised that all that left his mouth was a surprised gasp. He struggled to form a coherent reply, but his mind was suddenly devoid of rational thought that for a moment he was unable to do more than stare at Hans in disbelief.

His emotions must have shown on his face because the man let out an amused chuckle. "Don't look so shocked. This shouldn't come as such a surprise to you."

"But... I just moved here and... You don't even know anything about me! For all you know, I could be a –"

"A war criminal in hiding?" Hans finished for him. "We've considered that, and we don't care. In the short time you've been here, you've helped so many of us. Everybody likes you and respects you."

Germany barely listened as Hans praised him, each word worming under his skin until he was sure he would burst open. He looked at the man's twisted back and the cane and knew that they were his fault. The man wouldn't speak of him with such adoration if he knew how many lives he had ruined.

"No, I can't. I'm sorry," he said. It was just the village council, but what if they wanted him to speak for them when the villages of the area came together to discuss important matters? How long until someone would ask him to join a political party and give speeches, first in the countryside and then in the nearest town? The villagers were flocking to him in a way that reminded him too much of the years before the war.

"You don't have to give us an answer right away. Think about it for a while," Hans suggested.

There was only one thought on Germany's mind as he was walking back to his cottage. He couldn't stay in the village. It had been stupid to come there in the first place, and he couldn't believe he had made such a mistake. Of course he would draw attention to himself in a place where everyone knew everyone else. If he wanted to be invisible, he needed to go to a bigger place and become part of the faceless crowd.

The next day, he visited the post office and asked to use their telephone, the only one in the village. He made a show of calling his cousin and discovering that his aunt's health was deteriorating, which prompted him to immediately promise that he'd move in with them and help make ends meet. He collected his scarce belongings, said goodbye to everyone and avoided every attempt they made to get his new address.

"I wish you wouldn't go, but somehow it makes sense," Hanna said to him as he was climbing onto a carriage. One of the villagers had errands to run in town and had offered to take Germany along.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't get me wrong, we're all going to miss you, but... I just have this feeling."

The man who was taking him to town wasn't much of a talker, which left Germany with plenty of time with his thoughts. He wasn't doubting his decision to disappear. He had long since made a list of the pros and cons and seen that this was the rational course of action. It was the right thing to do.

The only part he regretted was that he wouldn't get to see Prussia, Italy and the others again. They were better off without the burden that he carried, but Germany couldn't help being a little selfish and wishing that he could have at least said goodbye. It was ironic how often he had prayed that he'd get a moment of peace from Prussia's obnoxious comments or Italy's clinginess, but now he missed both.

He knew there was no point in feeling sorry for himself. He was merely reaping the just rewards of his own mistakes. He couldn't hope to ever make up for them, but at least he could give his people a new beginning. Prussia would lead them to a brighter future. He would make the country better and build diplomatic relationships that weren't as blackened by the past as they would be if Germany was in charge.

They arrived in town later that afternoon. Germany said goodbye to the man who had brought him there and sighed as he picked up his coat and suitcase. Another new beginning. This time, he'd be more careful and not let himself get too close to the people around him.

He decided the current town was too small for his liking. He knew he should go somewhere where they were rebuilding the industry. It would be easy to find a job in such a place, and since there would be so many people moving there in hopes of finding a better life, he wouldn't stand out as a newcomer.

There was no train station, so he had to continue by bus. It was an old, rusty can from before the war, and Germany was surprised it still worked. He took a seat next to an old woman, offering her a brief smile as he sat down and then pretended to focus on a book so that nobody would talk to him. It mostly worked; it was only during dinnertime that she took a sandwich from her basket and asked him if he wanted it.

"You remind me of my grandson," she explained when Germany tried to refuse politely. "These were his favourites."

Germany swallowed the rest of his protests and took the sandwich. He had little appetite, but he ate it because the woman kept looking at him expectantly. Once he was done, she flashed him a happy smile and went back to looking at the passing scenery through the window.

It was getting dark by the time the bus reached its destination. The other passengers quickly left the station, either together with someone who had come to greet them or alone, having a clear destination. Germany didn't know where to go, so he busied himself with reading the bus schedule for the following day. He didn't want to stay in this town either.

He ended up spending the night on a bench at the station where he at least had a roof over his head. It was a little chilly, but he didn't mind. He'd slept in much worse places only a few years earlier, and something about the desolate atmosphere reminded him of the times Prussia had forced him to sleep alone in the woods so that he'd man up and become strong.

He took another bus the following day after counting the scarce money he had to determine how far he could go. The closest big city was Stuttgart, and he supposed he might find work in a factory somewhere in the area. He knew he had no right to wish for anything, but the thought of working with cars was appealing. He had fallen in love with them when he had seen his first one in a fair he had attended with Prussia. His brother had been suspicious of them at first, saying that horses had been good enough for him all his life, but after Karl Benz had offered them the chance to try out his prototype, he had swiftly changed his mind.

Germany arrived in Stuttgart the following day and began to look for affordable lodgings. The city made him feel nervous and relieved at the same time. He was finally surrounded by so many people that few would notice him, but here he faced the danger that one of those who did might recognise him. The chances of running into other nations weren't high, and most of the politicians who had got to know him over the past few years were dead or in prison, but he could never be too careful.

Everyone he asked about lodgings was very helpful, and he was eventually directed to the house of a woman who hired rooms. She happened to have one free, and even though she usually asked for a week's payment in advance and Germany only had enough for two nights, she wanted to take him in.

"It's alright. Don't worry if you don't quite make it. You can pay the rest later," she assured him once he had explained his situation.

"I don't think that would be fair." There had to be countless others like him looking for a place to stay. It wouldn't be right if he kept using the room for free with no guarantee of when he'd be able to pay her.

"Oh, shush. Everybody needs a little help sometimes. You aren't the first one."

Germany eyes were heavy and his stomach empty, and the thought of collapsing onto his bed so that he could get rid of one condition and momentarily forget about the other was tempting, but he had a stubborn streak that bordered on unhealthy when there wasn't enough sufficient logic to convince him otherwise.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he couldn't accept her generosity, but she turned her back on him and announced she'd be getting him the key to his room and that if he didn't want to make a weak-legged woman like her run around for nothing, he'd accept it. Germany swallowed his objections with a sigh and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

The house was old and in need of some repairs, but most of it was superficial. The paint was peeling off the walls, the floorboards complained whenever weight was placed on them, and the door to his side looked like it was glaring at him with one eye where the doorknob had used to be. He hoped the roof wouldn't be leaky.

Germany's eyes fell on the corner table that stood in the hallway. At first he noticed only the vase and the old paper roses in it, but then his attention was caught by the folded up newspaper. A quick glance at the date revealed it to be the previous day's paper, and he reached for it with his throat suddenly so tight he could barely breathe.

As expected, the main headlines were all about the recent political developments. Germany scanned the articles, eager to absorb every word but too impatient to stop and read them properly. And as he turned the page, it felt like that one time when he had caught a French bullet to his side. A black and white photo was placed in the middle of the text, and right there, standing behind Adenauer, was Prussia.

"Here it – Is something wrong?"

Germany looked up from the picture, realising only then that he was crumbling the paper in his grip. Feeling a little foolish, he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

"Would it be possible for me to have this?" he asked.

"The paper? Sure, I've already read it. It's a relief to know something might become of this country again, isn't it?"

"Well, I –"

"Something decent, I mean." An unreadable expression crossed the face of his landlady – Germany supposed he had to cave in and call her that now – but he didn't dwell on it. All that he wanted was to go to his room and read the paper. He doubted Prussia would be mentioned because nations – even ones who loved attention as much as he did – preferred to stay away from the public stage and let only choice people know about them. That he had been caught in a photo was surprising enough, but Germany considered it a stroke of luck.

Prussia was fine. He had assumed his role as the representation of the country and people. He wasn't with Russia anymore; he was free. He would _live._ He was going to have everything that he had lost and be a real nation again.

Germany climbed upstairs, deaf to the groaning of the stairs and his landlady's questions about if he was joining the others for dinner. He placed the paper on the bed as soon as he found his room and attempted to straighten out the creases he had caused in his shock. Once certain that the photo was fine, he began to read the text, every once in a while glancing back at the picture to make sure his brother was really there and he wasn't imagining it.


	6. Chapter 6

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 6**

Prussia let his palm travel along the surface of the desk in his office. It was new; the wood under his skin felt smooth and pleasant to the touch. He was sure they could have spared an old desk, but his boss had told him it was symbolically compelling to make the most important piece of furniture in his office spotless and free of blemishes caused by past use. Prussia had rolled his eyes and said that he could make his western orientation policy perfect even if he had no desk at all, but the damn thing had already been brought inside, so that was that. It was a pity; he liked his furniture with signs of wear and a few chinks left by swords when negotiations got heated. He doubted this desk would be seeing much of that, and not just because most people didn't carry swords anymore.

Done circling the piece of furniture, he plopped into his chair. In a minute, he'd be organizing paperwork into the filing cabinets, but he wanted to have this one last moment to himself first. He slipped his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the piece of metal tucked there. Every curve of the item was familiar against his skin, the form of the cross, the eagle and the numbers 1866.

It was far from his favourite or most significant medal of war, but it had caught his eye as he had had his things sent away. That war against Austria had been one of the last great things he had done as a kingdom. Soon after, he and the others had formed the North German Confederation and then the German Empire, and while it had been awesome to watch his kid brother thrive, there were also things he had been sad to let go.

He took out the medal and tossed it into the air, catching it again. He probably shouldn't have felt that way, but it was as if he was once again giving up everything for his brother. It made no amount of sense – he had had nothing to give up. He was _gaining _from this. He was a nation again, and the fact that it wasn't the nation he felt most comfortable as didn't make it a bad thing. If he could turn from an order of knights into a duchy and a kingdom, he could try this as well. There was no limit to what he could do.

The medal flew up one more time. Prussia pulled open the uppermost drawer and let the cross fall there with a hollow clink. There. That would do. He'd cover it with paperwork later, but it would always remain there, the last piece of his past that he'd allow himself to have in his new position.

I sure hope you're happy now, West, he thought as he cracked his knuckles and stood up to get started on his work. Since Bonn was the new capital, they had moved plenty of important government positions there. His boss had told him to get his office and paperwork organized and tidy as soon as possible, and that was how he intended to spend the rest of the day.

Most of the documents in his office dealt with his relations with other personifications. His boss had been happy to find out that he and France were friends – or had been; he wasn't sure of their current status. The two of them still hadn't talked man to man after the war, and Prussia was beginning to think that if it hadn't been a tacky move after recent world events, he would have just walked up to his door, kicked it open and invited himself in. He hated waiting and twiddling his thumbs while France kept ignoring the pressing matters between them.

On a political level, their relations were even worse. Many of France's politicians and people were afraid of their eastern neighbour and considered Germany a bigger threat than the Soviet Union. Normally, Prussia would have been flattered, but this was a reputation earned with too much blood even for him, and it was stopping him from doing an effective job at taking care of his country.

Filing papers was a routine that had a nearly therapeutic effect on him. Prussia didn't mind work or near-impossible challenges. They gave him the chance to be active and push himself to his limits. And that was why he grabbed the receiver on the shiny, black phone on his desk when it was time for a break and called his secretary.

"Hey, you there! I want you to get me a bottle of wine. Any kind will do, and no need to make it too fancy. Actually, buy the bitterest crap you can find."

Prussia put the receiver back, feeling satisfied with himself. Just because he wanted to talk to France didn't mean he was going to pamper him. It would be a long time until they could stand in the same room and not immediately let their minds jump back a few years.

He checked his calendar that was already full of meetings with various politicians and found a free day a month and a half away. He reserved every spot on it for France and spent a moment wondering if he should do the same for Spain, but he decided against it. He had had lots of lucky breaks over the years, but the past wars had shown him what could happen if one's attention was divided between two fronts. He'd deal with France and his hostility first, then talk to Spain about his civil war – if the other even wanted to see him.

After his break was over, he returned to organizing the paperwork. The cabinets grew filled at such a rate that he was soon beginning to wonder if he'd need a few more or if someone had accidentally sent one or two boxes of scrap paper to his office. But no, every file he flipped through was important.

It was dark outside by the time he was done. Prussia stood with his hands on his hips and looked at his handiwork, trying to find some pride in it. Usually, he loved putting things in their place and the satisfaction that always followed when he cleaned up a mess, but it remained absent this time. So many lives lost, so many reparations to pay, so much to rebuild. There was nothing to be proud of.

Fuck you, West, he thought. It wasn't fair to leave him to deal with this all alone. Even now after he had spent so many nights over-thinking his brother's decision, he couldn't understand _how _he had ever reached it. Germany should have been stronger. Prussia hadn't brought him up to be a quitter.

Had Germany killed himself because he had thought he'd be left alone with his mistakes and their consequences? Prussia had promised him he'd help him. He'd been there during all the bloodshed, so of course he'd be there for the aftermath. Had it not been enough for Germany? Or had he lost hope when Russia had cut off most of the communication between them?

Letting out a sigh, he reached up to rub his eyes. Such thoughts drained all strength from him. He had no way of knowing what had been going through Germany's mind, nor could he go back in time and change anything. It was so pointless to let his thoughts run around in circles. He had to stay focused on the future – for the sake of the people and the country, but also for his own.

* * *

Prussia had to admit he was surprised when France not only replied to his request for a meeting but also agreed to it. Part of him had been expecting a disgusted refusal, and that same part now had its guard up in case this was some plot to hurt or humiliate him. France seemed equally wary, and Prussia hadn't missed how he hadn't touched his wine yet.

"Afraid I'm going to poison you?" he asked and gulped down his entire glass.

"You're more likely to shoot me in the head. I just don't trust you when it comes to picking quality wine."

"Pfft, don't worry. I was going to offer you some cheap sewer water, but when my boss heard you were coming, he threw it away and bought this stuff. He really wants us to be buddies, you know?"

France lifted his glass to his lips, but Prussia couldn't be sure if it was because his words had convinced him or because he wanted to hide his amused snort.

"You need more than good wine to win me over."

Had the past few years not happened, Prussia would have used this opening to make a lewd suggestion that would have made France roll his eyes and scold him for being an uncultured ruffian. Such playfulness felt out of place now, and the stiffness that had been around his shoulders when France had stepped inside was still present.

"Why did you invite me here?"

Prussia shrugged and shot a meaningful look around his office. "Politics?"

"At the moment there isn't anything going on that's big enough to require us to meet. Our politicians can handle it."

"A social call?"

"Too early for that." France placed his glass on Prussia's desk and crossed his hands on his lap, glaring expectantly at him. "If you asked me here because you want to blame me for what happened to Germany, you can forget it."

"Huh? What are you talking about?" The thought hadn't really crossed Prussia's mind. When he felt like blaming someone, it was usually the Allies together, Russia on his own for keeping him away from his brother, sometimes himself for not doing enough to get back to him and sometimes Germany for being weak and stupid. But never just France.

"Oh, please. Like you haven't been looking for an excuse to punch me since the war. I know how much you hate losing."

"You think I'm going to use West's death as an excuse to get back at you for losing that shitty war? I thought you knew me better than that!"

There was only anger in France's eyes as their gazes met. "I thought so as well before all this happened."

So many thoughts were bubbling inside Prussia's head – that it had been Germany's war, not his, that as a free state he hadn't had the political power to do much to stop it, that their boss had been crazy and incompetent, that nations couldn't stop their people from doing what they wanted and France should fucking know that, but they were all excuses. He would have been lying if he had said he hadn't been excited when the war had started. He hadn't liked their leadership, but he loved war.

"What do you expect me to say? We fucked up. I bet that two hundred years from now, they'll still be writing books about just how badly. Maybe longer since we've got photos and film so even after the people who lived through it are long gone, everyone will still see what happened. And if it looks like they're forgetting, I'll make it a national duty of every citizen to watch that shit! But no matter how many times I apologize or how much reparations I pay, it won't change what happened!"

"It didn't just happen out of nowhere, you imbecile. _You _did it, so why don't you –"

France closed his mouth, and Prussia was sure he could hear his teeth click together. He watched him reach for the glass of wine with such force that some of the drink spilled on the floor.

Prussia gritted his jaw in an effort not to make a comment.

A string of French profanities escaped through France's lips as he reached up to rub his eyes with his free hand. Prussia observed the display in mild confusion and wondered what had got to him. France's anger was no surprise, but the way he was now behaving didn't make sense.

"You'd think we'd get used to this after so many centuries," France muttered.

"To what?"

"To what the people are feeling. Mine hate and fear you and yearn for revenge. They want you beaten to the point that you'll never get up again. It's a little difficult to separate my own emotions from that. But I don't have to tell you that. We're all going through the same thing."

With some sense of alarm, Prussia realised that France was wrong. He was all too familiar with the feeling of being overcome by patriotism, hatred and fear and of thoughts and opinions that weren't his own suddenly making sense. Over the years, he had developed some awareness that helped him differentiate between himself and the people, but there had been no real need for that since the war.

The people who still identified as Prussian were there, a faint but steady beat that was in rhythm with his heart. But the feeling should have been buried under the pulse of all of his new people. And yet he couldn't find them even when he tried to focus. He needed to ask others to know what his people were thinking and feeling.

Prussia crossed his hands behind his head. "You figure it's possible to... I don't know, become a little defective if you stop being a nation for a while?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, can you get out of practice? Like if you don't use your sword for a while."

"I don't know. Out of the two of us, shouldn't you be the one to answer that?"

Prussia acknowledged the question with a hum. "I don't feel like Germany."

"Is that a surprise? You haven't even been Germany for a year yet."

"Yeah, but something's missing. I've transitioned before." Prussia tried to think back to times when the change had been as big as now, but the details were gone. All he could remember was feeling powerful and thinking that he was the best. But maybe there was no point in comparing his current situation with the past. As the others had said, he wasn't absorbing new people to an existing nation or changing the form of his government. The people already had an identity and a government, so _he _was the one who had to adapt. It was probably going to be a slow process, but surely he should have had some connection to the people already?

"I'm going to miss my name. It's the best," he grumbled.

"Far from it, but it'll take a while before I'll get used to calling you Germany. To be honest, I'd rather not because the name alone is enough to make my blood boil."

"Is that you or the people talking?"

"Me. Don't fool yourself into thinking that the animosity stems from my people only. A lot of this is personal."

"Fair enough."

"You still haven't told me what you want from me."

"I'm not really sure. I just felt like doing something instead of sitting around on my ass and waiting for something to happen. I mean, maybe we'll now be able to be civil to each other next time we meet to discuss work."

France snorted. "We rarely managed that even when our countries were on good terms."

"Yeah, and I guess life would be boring if we always agreed on everything."

The irritated glance France sent him told Prussia that he had once again chosen the wrong words. Sure, okay. Most nations in Europe would have been ecstatic at the news of no more disagreements between anyone, and he wasn't itching to start another fight either, but the current atmosphere got under his skin. He _knew_ his job was to grovel and apologize and not expect anything in return, but that wasn't his style, not even now. There was a reason the others had seen fit to dissolve him.

"I hate your brother even more than you, but I think he would have done a better job at representing this country. At least he would have known his place," France said.

"Oh, please. I bet you all raised a toast after you found his body. The only thing you regret is not being there when he did it." Depending on France's answer, he just might end up lunging at him and turning this into his desk's introduction into how he handled negotiations. He could deal with the hatred and loathing the majority of the world felt towards him. He was now Germany; it was his duty to bear it. But anyone who was gleeful about how his kid brother had jumped off a building deserved a beating.

France kept him waiting for a moment. "You have no idea how much I'd love to say yes, just to see your face. But no, we're better than that." Better than _them_ was the underlying message, but Prussia let it slide.

"I wasn't happy to see him die. We already told you we weren't after revenge. We wanted justice, and now it's been watered down because he took the easy way out. If only..." France drifted off, pressing his lips into a frustrated line as his eyes drifted from Prussia's face and began to wander aimlessly in the room.

"If only what?"

"Don't take this the wrong way. I'm not willing to shoulder any of the blame; I'm merely lamenting over a lost opportunity. If I hadn't objected so much to the founding of a new German state, your brother wouldn't have been able to kill himself. By the time the idea crossed his mind, he would have already been reinstated as a full representation."

So, there he had it. The perfect reason to blame France personally if he so wanted. The anger that broiled inside him spread from his stomach to his limbs, and the only detail that kept him from lashing out was the fact that it was too good of an opening. Only amateurs charged blindly into such easy traps.

A crooked grin spread on his face as he realised what France was trying to do. "You feel guilty," he cackled. "And you hate it because you don't want to feel anything for him. If you think you can provoke me into causing a diplomatic scandal so that you can put this behind you, think again. I'm no longer Prussia, remember? I'm the tamed and docile Germany who will never attack another nation again."

"It's not guilt!" France snapped.

"Then what?"

"Only frustration. He was young, so something could have still become of him despite the disastrous way you raised him. But now we're stuck with you."

Nothing productive resulted from the rest of their conversation. France thanked him for the wine and left, declining Prussia's offer to spend some time together outside the office. Nevertheless, Prussia considered the day half a victory. They still weren't on friendly terms – and he hadn't been expecting that to change so swiftly – but he felt the foundations for co-operation were a little firmer.

* * *

Nations experienced time differently from the people they represented. Prussia was kept busy by his work to rebuild the country's industry and diplomatic relations with the rest of the world, but even without that he would have barely noticed the next few years passing. It was with mild surprise that he realised they were already approaching the mid-point of the 1950s.

The developments beyond the eastern border both amused and worried him. It was so satisfactory to see how Russia's ideas weren't working and how many young and intelligent people kept leaving the country, but it made him wary of what their government might do to stop it. Border or not, he considered them all his people – no longer his brother's, even if he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea – and he didn't want the divide between the two halves of the nation to grow any bigger.

He kept paying reparations to Israel and the others and felt a little ashamed of himself each time, as if money could buy forgiveness. But with each year that passed, he was a little more confident that the country would be standing on its own soon and that maybe one day the others in Europe would see him as an equal once more.

"And make sure you treat them well, bastard, or I'll come over there and stuff so much sauerkraut up your ass that you'll wish they'd dissolve you again!"

"Relax, I'll be good to them," Prussia promised, but the only response he got was an angry click when Romano threw down his receiver.

He was about to sign a recruitment agreement with Italy to allow guest workers to come to his country and fill the needs of his growing economy. Romano was handling the negotiations, partly because most of the workers would be from the south and partly because he was being an overprotective jerk and did everything he could to stop Prussia from having any contact with his brother.

With a sigh, Prussia threw himself onto his chair and let it whirl around a few times. Despite how well his economy was doing, he was tired almost all the time. At first he had blamed it on the massive workload and general disorder and confusion, but that no longer made sense. Germany was doing great at the moment, so he should have been full of vigour and life. Yet he felt more like he was going through the early stages of a recession.

America had patted him on the back during his latest visit and told him to soldier on. He'd feel better once they had driven all the commies out of Europe, he had said. Prussia had wanted to argue, but somehow it had felt entirely pointless, so he had chosen the easy option of smiling and nodding along like an idiot.

Every now and then, his boss asked him if he was sleeping enough. Prussia always laughed and said that sleeping was for the weak, but in reality he was spending more time in bed than he could ever remember doing during his existence. For centuries, he had had the habit of getting up before sunrise to exercise, but these days it was a struggle to crawl out of bed early enough to make it to work in time.

He'd just have to keep himself together until this strange phase passed. Otherwise, his boss would sooner or later start to think his condition represented some secret, unknown problem among the people or in the economy. Humans were so simple and quick to jump to conclusions. Luckily, they also didn't understand beings like him that well, so it was easy to fool them into believing he was fine.

Other nations, however, were a different matter. He met France the following week, in his apartment this time because even though it had been only a few years, they got along a little better. Prussia laughed and joked and boasted with his economy as best as he could, but the thoughtful frown on France's face never quite went away.

"You don't look like someone who's currently experiencing an economic miracle," he pointed out.

"Hehe, you're just jealous!"

"And you're an idiot. What have you done to yourself?"

Prussia took a gulp of his beer and licked his lips as he considered his next words. He had tried to come up with a convincing story to tell to other nations, but so far he had nothing. He understood the situation as little as anyone else.

"I haven't done anything. It's just the way it is."

"Have you been sick lately? Do you have headaches?"

"Put on a nurse's uniform and maybe then I'll answer these questions."

"Sorry, but you don't look one bit appealing at the moment. Have you looked into the mirror lately?"

Of course he had, but less than usual. The enjoyment of seeing his own features was a little diminished by the circles around his eyes that seemed to get darker every week and the fact that his skin had taken a turn from pale to unhealthy. Prussia had never much cared about his hair, but now even he was bothered by the lifeless mop that hung on his head.

And he still couldn't feel the people. The Prussians had mostly disappeared from his consciousness as well, but that was because he had been doing his best to ignore them. Maybe he needed to severe his connection to them so that he could feel all the people in the country. It hadn't brought about any results yet, but he wasn't the type of guy who gave up after the first try.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked.

"Depends. What is it?"

"I can't really say without telling it, can I?"

"Alright, as long as it has nothing to do with war, go ahead."

"But you've got to promise you won't tell this to anyone. I haven't said a word to the others, and that's how I want to keep it. It might put a dent in their trust in me."

"Like that could get much worse. Just get on with it!"

Prussia drew a deep breath. "Okay, here we go. I don't think this is working out."

"What?"

"Yeah, unbelievable, isn't it? I should be able to do anything, but –"

"Slow down! I don't even know what you're talking about!"

Prussia gestured at the room with his hands. There was a portrait of Adenauer, scenic paintings of Black Forest and a bookcase full of works by authors his brother had liked. A tiny German flag stood on the side table next to his gramophone and selection of records. He listened to his national anthem every day and hoped that there'd come a time when it warmed his blood.

"This whole being Germany thing," he said. "I can do paperwork and go to meetings all I want, but that's it. Something's missing. I don't feel like I'm Germany. It's like I'm wearing a uniform that's a bit too tight around the shoulders. I can lift my arms and shoot, but it's clumsy."

"Maybe that's no surprise. You were Prussia for centuries, but you've only been Germany for a little over five years. That's nothing, especially when the transition wasn't natural. Give it a bit more time." A slight smirk briefly crossed France's lips. "Try slicking your hair back. It would make you look more German and less Prussian."

"But I'm already trying so hard," Prussia whined. "Look at this room! It's full of West's things! I'm trying to act like they're mine, but it's not helping."

France frowned in thought and tapped his finger against his chin. "Pardon me if I'm going to carry on with your clothing metaphor, but maybe you should think of the situation as if you've just bought new boots. Even if they're the right size, it's still going to take some wear before they fit. Just keep going, and one morning you're going to wake up and feel very German. I don't think there's a significant difference between Prussians and Germans anyway."

"I guess not," Prussia admitted. France's words didn't really cheer him up all that much, but he managed something resembling a grin anyway. He supposed France was right and it would take more time. It was just that he wasn't looking forward to living God only knew how many decades or even centuries like this, lethargic and feeling like every step he took was a little more difficult than the previous.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for all the comments! Also, please note that this chapter discusses Nazi atrocities much more than the previous chapters.

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 7**

The sunlight pouring in through his window was inviting. His room faced west, so it was briefly filled with orange and gold every evening before night arrived. In the beginning, Germany had spent those moments inside, enjoying the quiet and resting after a full day at the factory where he worked.

Now that same light was his sign to go out. He was no longer tired after work, not even if it had been his turn at the loading station. His muscles never ached anymore, and the melancholy that had sometimes threatened to overcome him was mostly gone.

He was simply adjusting, he tried to tell himself. The war had left him exhausted, and this life was so different from anything he had ever experienced. It was peaceful; few things broke the routine he had built for himself. He got up early to have breakfast and go to work, and spent most of his day there, had lunch with the other workers and always agreed to extra hours if the foreman asked. By the time he made it back to the house where he had been renting a room for the past years, there were only a few moments left before darkness. He ate and either retired to his room or went out for a walk.

"You're going out again, Mr. Müller?" his landlady asked as she spotted him putting on his jacket in the hall.

"Only for a quick walk." He tried to give her a polite smile, but even after over five years of knowing each other, he could never feel entirely at ease with her. She was friendly and hadn't thrown him out even though it had taken him a while to find a job and be able to pay rent, and she always exchanged a few words with him when he came to eat downstairs. But there was just _something _about her and the wary look that entered her eyes when she thought nobody was looking that unnerved him.

He didn't want to ask, and he knew it would have been bad form anyway. Nobody wanted to talk about their past or hear what someone else had been through. It was easier to pretend that the people one met daily had no stories to tell.

Germany felt free once he was out of the house. When he had given up his life as a nation, he had imagined he would be sentencing himself to a lonely and miserable existence, maybe even wasting away in a heartbeat like humans did. It was what he would have deserved, but he was nevertheless grateful for how vibrant, lively and strong he felt. Maybe it was a side effect of no longer being a nation – he had less problems and responsibilities than ever in his life and only had to look out for himself.

That didn't mean he was lonely. Stuttgart was a large city, so he didn't stand out the way he had in the village where he had first settled, but the people in his life provided him with some company. He hadn't developed a close friendship with anyone, not even the people who rented a room in the same building. There were times when he yearned to reach out for someone, but he didn't want to risk the comfortable life he had found for himself, and settled with casual conversations during his lunch break and greetings and nods in the bakery and the bank.

He tipped his hat at the young family that passed him in the street. They lived nearby, and he had met the husband several times at the post office when he had gone to drop off fake letters to random addresses because mailing things brought another a comforting and normal routine to his life.

There was a café around the corner he visited every now and then. His usual spot was vacant – it always was when he felt like ordering a cup of coffee or a beer – and he slid into it with practised ease.

The waiter was with him at once.

"Good evening, Mr. Müller! What can I get you this time?"

"Just a cup of coffee, please."

It was nice to spend the evening like this, watching the people walk by or stop to sit for a moment with friends or family. Surrounded by them and seeing how much things had improved in less than ten years made his chest fill with a proud, secure feeling. It was as if he had never stopped being their nation.

Germany occasionally considered that thought. It couldn't be a coincidence that his mood and strength had improved together with those of the country. There had to be some link left between him and the people. Whether it was permanent or lingering for the time being, he didn't know, but part of him was glad for it. He was sure the remaining connection was the reason his life wasn't constant misery and isolation.

He could only hope this wasn't causing Prussia any problems. Even though he read the paper every day, he hadn't found any other pictures of his brother or seen the name Gilbert Beilschmidt mentioned anywhere. But since the country was doing so well, Prussia had to be doing a good job. He had to.

Sometimes, he entertained himself with the fantasy that he and Prussia would run into each other by accident. It could happen anywhere. He could be on his way to the bakery and Prussia would be there, buying something sweet to last him through a conference. Nobody could accuse Germany of breaking his vow. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he met Prussia again – he missed him enough to want to embrace him and never let go, but he knew that if Prussia was actually there before him, his dignity might not let him do more than pat his shoulder once or twice and buy him a beer.

He frowned at his coffee, mentally scolding himself for letting his thoughts wander. There was no point in engaging in fantasies of what-if, whether they were about his brother or his history.

The house was quiet when he returned some time later. His neighbours were a peaceful lot – an older gentleman, a young student, and a poet who always asked to borrow Germany's newspaper when he was done with it. The landlady, Anna Köster, lived in the biggest room downstairs, though Germany had only seen a glimpse of it one time when she had exited it. She preferred to keep her room locked at all times and never invited anyone in. Germany considered it a wise policy for a lone woman housing four men.

He smiled fondly at the lights that were on the windows as he reached for the door. It didn't quite feel like coming home, but it was close enough.

Mrs. Köster was sitting in the kitchen when he entered and gave him a brief look over her knitting. Germany nodded a greeting and continued upstairs without stopping to talk. She had been married once, but her husband wasn't around. She never spoke of him, so Germany didn't know what had happened, but he could make an educated guess.

Once in his room, he took off his jacket and hung it neatly on the hook on his door so that it'd be ready when he needed it in the morning. The hook had been his addition to the room. Even though he had been living in it for several years, he had done little else to add any personal touch to it. He read a lot, but he didn't keep most the books once he was done with them. The scarce items on the desk consisted of a small pile of paper, a fountain pen, an ink pot and an old clock he had bought after saving one tenth of his paycheck for half a year because it had beautiful eagle engraved on it.

While life had treated him roughly sometimes, particularly during the great inflation before the war, this was the first time he was living entirely by his own means. Keeping book of his personal expenses was like a fun pet project after dealing with the economy of an entire country. There was no need for luxuries in his life, but he had already calculated for how long he'd have to save if he ever wanted to buy a fridge or a car.

Or go on holiday in Italy like an increasing number of his people wanted to do. But that was another useless fantasy he had filed away at the back of his mind when he had realised he still held some connection to his people. Italy might notice something off if he entered his territory. And after his recent history, Germany was hesitant to cross any borders without an invitation.

* * *

Germany was returning from work and took a surprised step back as the front door of the house was pushed open and nearly hit him in the face. Mr. Böhme, the old man who lived next door to him, was pulling on his coat even as he staggered down the stairs and right past him, not stopping to utter an apology.

"Is everything alright?" Germany asked.

"I'm going out for dinner."

"Is Mrs. Köster serving something new today?"

"No, she..." Böhme made vague gestures with his hands as he searched for words. "She's got a guest. From America."

Germany waited for continuation that would explain why this was so upsetting, but none came. Instead, Böhme asked him if he wanted to join him. He said there was no point in eating alone. Germany declined, finding the man's uncharacteristic nervousness off-putting, like something slimy was wriggling under his shirt.

The feeling wasn't quite gone even as he stepped inside. He didn't see anyone else, but there was an unfamiliar jacket hanging in the hallway, and he could hear a voice in Mrs. Köster's room, muffled by the door. The guest was a woman, and even though Böhme had described her as an American, the conversation was in German.

There was dinner in the kitchen. Germany gathered some vegetable stew on his plate and sat down to eat. He always preferred staying in the kitchen rather than going up to his room because he wanted to avoid making a mess there.

He was done and washing his plate in the sink when he heard the sound of a door opening. The voices became so much clearer that he could no longer will himself not to pay attention to what was being said. He looked up from his work just in time to catch the sight of a young woman stepping into the hall from Mrs. Köster's room. She was wearing a blue blouse and a skirt that reached her calves, and her short, dark hair was done up in curls on top of her head. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet Germany couldn't tear his eyes from her.

"And I'm so happy that you're doing –" the woman was saying, her head towards Mrs. Köster as she exited the room, but the words were cut off when she turned around and spotted Germany in the kitchen. All colour drained from her face, and no sound escaped from her open mouth.

"Johanna? Are you alright?" Mrs. Köster placed a hand on her shoulder, but the other didn't even seem to notice it.

Germany tried to remember if he had ever seen this woman anywhere. Her features didn't ring any bells, but she certainly seemed to recognise him.

"Um..." was all he could say, his hands still in soapy water, but he was saved from coming up with more when the woman's hands flew up to cover her mouth, and she turned around and ran back into the room behind her.

Mrs. Köster stood frozen at the door, seemingly unable to decide what to do. Then she shot a dark, suspicious look into Germany's direction and followed her guest inside, closing the door behind them.

Germany finished doing the dishes, nearly dropping the plate because his mind wasn't into it anymore. Once done, he dried the sink with a towel as he didn't want to leave a mess for the others and because he needed something more to do. Then he began to climb up to his room, each step of the stairs making him feel like he was running away.

He sat down at his desk and tried to busy himself with writing. He had tried keeping a diary at one point, but it had never developed beyond a list of things he had done and things he still needed to do. This time he didn't manage even that. A cold sense of foreboding had taken over him and left him unable to do more than wait for the inevitable and try to stop his memory from taking him back to times he didn't want to recall.

After a while, he began to think that nothing was going to happen. He didn't know if he was relieved or not. The knot inside him was tightening by the minute, but the idea of facing the woman frightened him. One look from her had already made him feel this bare and dirty.

There was a hesitant knock on his door.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal the woman from earlier. Germany knew now that her name was Johanna, but referring to her by her first name made him feel nauseous. It was a painful reminder of the fact that she was a person and that she had suffered enough to feel frightened by the mere sight of him.

She didn't move from the door, and at first Germany thought she didn't want to step in. Then he realised that the only place where she could sit was on his bed, which would have placed him between her and the door. Without a word, he got up and moved to the bed himself, leaving the chair for her if she wanted it.

It took a moment before she moved and approached the the desk. She sat down, her face eerily pale in the darkening room, and for a moment Germany couldn't help but think that she was a ghost.

"I'm sorry the room is so messy. I didn't know that..." he started, but he trailed off, disgusted with himself, and lowered his head. "Never mind. Have we met?"

"I'm not sure," the woman – no, no, he reminded himself, _Johanna_ – said. "But as soon as I saw you, I felt like I knew you."

Germany's mouth was like he hadn't drunk a drop of water in his lifetime. "You're afraid of me."

"You remind me of things I'm trying so hard to forget. For a moment I thought I was back there again."

Germany didn't ask her to elaborate. He didn't need to. He didn't even need to know the name of the camp she was talking about. Auschwitz, Dachau, Buchenwald and so many others – all had been horrible beyond what any language could describe.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words burning his throat. He didn't deserve anyone's forgiveness, and even apologizing was arrogant and insulting. And yet it was all there was for him to do. "I'm so sorry."

"You were there," Johanna said, and the sudden change in her tone made Germany look up. "I remember now. I saw you. You're the guard who beat us when we were too slow, or when he just felt like it. But... something about your face reminds me of the woman who slept in the same bunk with me, and... but aren't you the man who whispered to me every day that help would come... no... the lieutenant who –"

Her speech broke into shattered words as she tried to make sense of the confusing images in her head. Germany didn't know what to do; he couldn't reach out to her, and he didn't think there was anything he could say to comfort her. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Most people noticed something off when they were in the presence of a nation, but he had met only a handful who had reacted this strongly to him.

"How do you know Mrs. Köster?" he asked, hoping to bring her back to reality.

Johanna looked startled to hear his voice, but at least she stopped mumbling incoherent words. "She and her husband used to keep us hidden. My parents and my brothers, I mean. But they found us anyway. I didn't know what had happened to the Kösters until I managed to track her down after a few years."

Germany nodded. He had thought Mrs. Köster's husband had been a soldier and fallen in war, but now it was far more likely that he had been executed or died in a camp.

"What about..." He had to clear his throat. "What about your family?"

He knew the answer even before she spoke. The anguish on her face could mean only one thing.

"My father is alive."

"I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you help? Why didn't you do anything?" She was looking at him with a face masked by desperation, anger and so much pain that Germany didn't know how a human being could bear it. She continued, like she wasn't even expecting him to answer. "You could have stopped them, but you let them do this. Why? How could you?"

Germany realised that she was no longer talking to him personally. She was addressing him as the German nation – the neighbours, the people she talked to in the bakery in the morning, the man who delivered her letters, the woman who sold her vegetables. And he still didn't know what to say. There were so many reasons. Some had believed in all the hate and supported the government's actions, others hadn't known what was going on, others had seen it as the necessary evil, others had been so scared they had closed their eyes from what was happening everywhere around them. But none of these were satisfactory answers to someone who had suffered and lost so much.

"Tell me!" she screamed, the remains of her calmness destroyed as she broke into tears, struggling to catch breath between the sobs that shook her body. "That's why I came to talk to you! You have to tell me!"

Germany hung his head in shame. He couldn't give her an explanation nor apologize. He couldn't bring back her family or take away her nightmares, and anything less was meaningless.

It didn't take long before the screaming brought Mrs. Köster up to the room. She took Johanna into her arms, whispering words of comfort to her.

Then she turned to look at Germany.

"What did you do to her?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but once again there was nothing to say. He didn't even know to begin, and someone like Mrs. Köster who didn't seem to sense his true nature would have never understood.

"You must be one of them. I don't know why I ever felt like I could trust you."

She let out a disgusted snort and began to lead Johanna out. She didn't look at Germany again as they left.

Even with the room empty, Germany felt like he was being pushed against a wall and crushed. The screams were still echoing inside his head, but it wasn't only Johanna anymore. He thought about all the people who had loved him and trusted him and how he had betrayed them. Eyes stinging, he collapsed on his bed and buried his face into his pillow to keep at least some of the emotions subdued, but it was as if they were tearing his skin apart and gushing out of him like blood.

He didn't have to worry about appearances now that he was alone. He cried like he had after the war when the enormity of his country's crimes had hit him, but somehow, it was even worse this time. Because for a while, he had been feeling so good and hopeful that he had forgotten how many people still carried wounds that might never heal.

There was no relief for him; the weight of the guilt didn't disappear no matter long he cried. Somewhere at the back of his mind he realised that this was the burden he was meant to bear, and the thought made him finally look up and straighten his frame.

He fumbled around his desk until he found the only book he had kept, an old collection of fairytales. Between the pages, there was the newspaper photo of Prussia he had found on his first day in Stuttgart. He took it out and stared at it, self-loathing gnawing at his insides.

This burden was his, not Prussia's.

He had thought his disappearance would be the best for everyone, but the truth was clear to him now. It had only been good for him. It had allowed him to hide from the consequences of his actions instead of working to fix his mistakes.

Everything had seemed so hopeless right after the war, his country in ruins and his people condemned. But that was exactly when he should have been strong. He had only betrayed them again and left his brother to pay for their sins alone.

He didn't deserve this easy, quiet life away from everything. He had to face all the mistrust and hate from the others and make sure that the past would never repeat itself. He had to make this country better. It was meant to be hard; it was the price he had to pay before he could look the others into the eyes again.

Instead, he had run away like a coward.

His plan hadn't even worked. The people were still his. He was sure of it now. Whatever ridiculous excuses he had used to fool himself for the past years had been dissolved by his tears. He was Germany – had been all this time and would always be. And it was high time he stopped running and returned where he belonged.


	8. Chapter 8

**THE GREATER GOOD**

**Chapter 8**

Germany didn't want to spend a moment longer in Stuttgart, but he knew he couldn't simply hop on a train and leave. He felt the need to tie up the loose ends of his short human life, so he showed up at the factory in the morning, told the foreman he wouldn't be coming back and did his shift anyway so that they wouldn't be short of men. In the evening, he cleaned his room at Mrs. Köster's, gave most of his belongings to charity – he kept the clock and some clothes – and bought a train ticket to Bonn.

It was strange to think that the years he had spent in the city could be washed away in the matter of hours. He didn't say goodbye to anyone. He didn't know anyone well enough, and even then he had the suspicion that nobody would notice he was gone because, in a way, he wasn't leaving them.

He wanted to, but he didn't ask Mrs. Köster about Johanna as he handed her the key to his room and apologized for his unexpected departure. He had no right to know where she was or how she was doing, especially since he didn't know where his sympathy ended and his guilt began. She was one of America's people now.

He tried calling several offices in Bonn to get into contact with Prussia so that he'd have time to digest the news before they met, but nobody wanted to put him through, and he didn't feel comfortable leaving a message with such important information. With a sense of defeat, he decided to reveal everything in person.

All the work and organizing matters kept him busy the whole day, but later in the evening when he was sitting on the train and trying to think of nothing as he stared out the window, worries began to gnaw at his resolve.

What would Prussia say when he showed up like this? He'd be angry that Germany had organized this sort of manoeuvre, that much was certain, but that was to be expected. Prussia hated being left in the dark and not having matters in his control. But that wasn't what Germany was worried about; he knew how to deal with his brother's anger.

But how would Prussia react to him wanting to reclaim his position as a nation? He had been given another chance at life and was representing a rapidly developing country and people. Would he resent Germany for taking it back? He had already lost so much because of him, either willingly or by force.

And what about the rest of the world? Germany kept tapping his fingers against his knee, the thoughts not leaving him alone. The other nations had been rebuilding their diplomatic relations with his country, but not with _him._ He still hadn't apologized properly, hadn't dealt with any of the awkwardness that came from facing the nations he had wronged. The healing relations they had were with Prussia, and many of them wouldn't appreciate having to suddenly deal with the man who had given a face to the terror that had plagued their people.

Germany held back a sigh and wished he had thought to buy a magazine at the station. Anything to keep his mind busy until he could do more than sit and wait.

It was already dark when he arrived in Bonn. He had called ahead and reserved a hotel room for the night. There was little point in trying to reach Prussia right away. He had no idea where he lived, and he didn't know how anyone would react to him poking around government buildings so late. He was their nation, so they'd be inclined to trust him, but if they shared his fondness for rules and order, they'd feel awfully stressed and conflicted about it.

So, he went to the hotel, spent a restless night trying to get some sleep, forced himself to swallow some bread and cheese at breakfast the following morning and then began his search for Prussia. He supposed the most likely place for him to be was Palais Schaumburg since that was where the chancellor had his office.

As expected, there was security, but he made it past the guards when he let them search him and when he said he had urgent business to take care of. They seemed to believe him right away, like it was natural that a stranger showed up unannounced and without any proof of what he was doing there.

The man at the reception had a similar reaction to him, only nodding at him after a brief look as he entered. Then again, he probably thought it was safe to trust anyone the security had let through.

"Excuse me," Germany said and walked up to the front desk.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm wondering if it would be possible for me to see Mr. Gilbert Beilschmidt today. Preferably right away."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you. Mr. Beilschmidt is a..." The man paused, and his eyes wandered for a moment as he searched for the words. "He's a very important aid to the chancellor, and you can't just walk in and ask for him."

"I'm sure he would make an exception for me." Germany gestured at the phone on the desk. "Could you call him in his office?"

The man looked like he wanted to argue. Germany could sympathise; appointments and visitor lists were there for a reason and ignoring them would lead to chaos. But this was so important, and he didn't have the patience to go through the proper steps. He needed to see Prussia now, and the longer he had to stand at the reception, so close and yet so far away, the more pressing the need became.

"Please," he said, clutching at the desk until he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. "If he's here, please call him. It's urgent."

"I... Well, fine, but if he doesn't want to see you, you must make a proper appointment with him. Who should I say you are?"

"Ludwig."

"Ludwig who?"

"Just Ludwig."

The man cast him a confused look but picked up the receiver anyway. He dialled a few numbers, and then they waited.

"Mr. Beilschmidt? I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there's someone here to see you. No, he didn't say, but – I don't think he is –"

Germany listened to the man's nervous and fragmented explanations and wished he could have heard Prussia's voice. He had to be angry if he was interrupting the receptionist all the time, which struck him as curious. Prussia had a temper, but he never took it out on his underlings if they hadn't given him a reason to.

"He wouldn't say, sir. He said he's just Ludwig. No other name. I – Alright, I understand." The man put down the receiver and turned to look at Germany with an apologetic frown. "He told me to send you up, but I would reconsider it if I were you. He sounded furious."

"It's alright. I know how to deal with him."

Germany was glad for the stairs he had to climb before reaching the floor where Prussia's office was. A little bit of exercise always had a calming effect on him, and the walk gave him some time to go over what he'd say when he stepped through the door. He had designed an intricate mental map with multiple paths depending on what turns the conversation would take, but now he had trouble recalling even the beginning of it.

He knocked on the door when he found the office. As much as he wished to step right in, the office was still Prussia's for the time being, and he wanted to respect that.

"Get in."

Prussia's voice was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the harsh tone he used when barking commands. If he hadn't been so nervous, Germany would have smiled as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Right, so who the hell –"

Prussia fell silent when he saw him, stopping the irritated tapping of his pen against the desk.

"Good morning. I know this must be a shock to you, but – "

"Who the fuck are you?"

"What?"

Prussia stood up behind his desk and slammed his hands on it, knocking over his ink pot. However, the paperwork that was soon in the process of being rapidly ruined was the least of Germany's concerns. Prussia's face was blotched with anger, and his eyes slit with such thirst for blood that for a moment Germany wanted to turn around and run.

"I'm Germany," he said. "Well, maybe not technically since you're –"

"Wrong answer. Who sent you? Russia? You guys must be getting dumb. Do you think you can just waltz here? Just because the boss thinks it's bad for my image to keep weapons in my office doesn't mean I'm helpless!"

Germany let out an exasperated sigh. "Nobody sent me! Can't you see it's me? I'm your brother."

"He's dead, as you very well know. You're a pretty good impersonator, though. Did you have to go through surgery?"

"You're being ridiculous. Don't I sound and look like myself? Ask me anything, and you'll see it's me."

"Alright. Sixth of March, 1889. We went riding that day. What colour were your socks?"

"What? You can't expect me to remember that!"

"You'd say that, wouldn't you? But I remember."

Germany fought back the urge to march across the office and shake some sense into his brother. This wasn't how he had expected their reunion to start. In his mind, he had imagined shaky laughs, pats on the back and awkward confessions of how much they had missed each other. He should have remembered that nothing was easy with Prussia.

"This is insane. Even you can't remember such meticulous details. Besides..." Germany said, trying to think of a relevant memory that nobody but he could know.

But he didn't have the time to find one. While he was thinking, Prussia leapt over the desk and jumped at him, crashing them both against the door. Germany's surprise stopped him from acting right away, which gave Prussia enough time to deliver a punch to his abdomen. It left Germany momentarily breathless, but he struggled to keep his footing and gave Prussia a shove to send him back. Gasping for breath, he stepped aside just in time to dodge another attack that might have broken his nose.

"Stop... that!" he ordered, but his words had little effect. Prussia's eyes were clouded by the kind of blind anger that Germany could remember witnessing only when his brother knew the battle was lost and wanted to keep trying anyway.

Prussia was fast and precise when he fought, so Germany knew he'd have to use brute force to take him down. Not caring that he'd probably injure himself in the process, he jumped at him and caught him in the mid-section, ignoring the pain of Prussia's knee in his stomach as they both fell on the floor.

For a moment, there was nothing but flailing limbs and angry grunts as they wrestled on the carpet, but eventually – much faster and with less injuries than he had expected – Germany got the upper hand and pinned Prussia's hands behind his back and pressed him down stomach first. He felt every muscle in his brother's body tense and fight back, but he had no trouble keeping him restrained.

It was strange, he thought. They had fought often, sometimes for practice and sometimes because their different personalities reached a boiling point. They had slightly different styles despite the fact that Prussia had taught him, but when it came to winning, they were equal. Sometimes it was him, sometimes Prussia, but never without having to work for it. This had been so simple that if he hadn't known better, he would have suspected Prussia of going easy on him.

"Well?" Prussia spat. "What's your next move? Going to get some information out of me, huh? Just try! That's never going to –"

"Shut up." Germany emphasized his words by squeezing at Prussia's arms until he knew it had to hurt. "I didn't want this to go like this, but you're giving me no choice. Listen. It's really me."

"Bullshit! West is dead!"

"No, I'm right here, and if you'd stop to think for a moment –"

"No, you aren't him! You can't be!" Prussia kept struggling as he spoke, even though he as well had to know how futile it was. Germany didn't dare let his guard down. He was sure Prussia hadn't taught him all the dirty tricks he knew.

"I can't remember what type of socks I wore that day. I can't even remember if we went riding or not. But there's so much more I can tell you."

Prussia's struggles ceased somewhat, and he strained his neck to be able to glare at him over his shoulder. "Going to prove that you've read your history? I wouldn't expect Russia to send someone who's unprepared."

"I don't think we went riding that often during those years anyway. I had so much work, and I wanted to do it all by myself even though I didn't have much experience yet. You kept nagging at me that someone who represented the German Empire shouldn't let himself go out of shape."

"I totally beat Germany's ass at everything back then. He was so lazy," Prussia muttered.

"There was nothing wrong with my training! And you didn't win every time. The only thing you were clearly better at was horses. I guess that's why you wanted us to go riding so often."

"That's not true! It had nothing to do with winning!"

"Then why?"

Prussia didn't answer, only clamped his mouth shut with an angry snort.

"Do I have to tell you more? Do you need to hear the names of all the dogs I've had? I can start with Blitz and Abbi if you want. What about that Christmas in 1865 or 1866 when you made me drink beer, and I almost threw up in the lounge?"

"Stop! I don't have to listen to this!"

"Or the theatre you liked to go to in the 30s before it got closed? You brought flowers for Lili-Marie every time, even after we found out she was really a man."

Prussia said nothing more. The body under him had gone limb, and Germany dared to loosen his hold a little.

"Prussia?" he asked.

"If it's really you, where have you been all this time?"

"I was... I had to go."

"Where? What about that fucking letter? And whose body did America and the others bury? Who was in the photos?"

"I wrote the letter so that nobody would come after me. As for that man, I don't have the slightest idea who he was. I witnessed his suicide and decided to use it to my advantage when I realised we looked identical."

"But why?" Prussia's voice was strained and angry, and Germany realised he was using all of his willpower to remain still in such a vulnerable position and just listen.

"Everything was in ruins after the war. Everyone hated my country and people. I had given a face to the atrocities we committed, and... I thought it would be better if I disappeared. That way, everyone could have a new start with one burden less to carry." Germany cleared his throat. "And... I wanted to pay you back. You've lost so much because of me, so I thought you deserved another chance at being a nation."

"You... Just... What the hell? You can't just stop being a nation like that! Did you really think it'd work?"

"I thought it did. I saw you in the papers after the country was founded."

"So? Standing next to the boss and smiling doesn't make anyone Germany! It's not just government stuff and signatures and treaties! It's about the people! There are representations for nations who don't have any land to their name! You should know that!"

"I do," Germany said. "And I know now that I was being foolish and running away from my responsibilities, but at the time it felt like the right thing to do."

"So you orchestrated your own death? Bullshit, West! What was the point of that and then coming back now? It's only been some five years! Things haven't changed _that _much!"

"I wasn't planning to come back."

"What?"

"Like I said, I thought –"

"You piece of shit!"

Prussia tore his hands from his grasp and lifted himself up on his elbows, which allowed him to pull his legs from under Germany and wriggle free. When he turned around, his face was twisted by the anger from before, and he lunged at Germany, like he had lost what was left of his self-control.

"I'm going to give you a beating that you'll never forget!"

Germany caught Prussia's wrists and forced him to stay at a distance from which he couldn't reach him. He said nothing; at this point Prussia was only going to calm down when his rage had burned out on its own.

"Who do you think you are? You have no right to make decisions like that!" Prussia yelled once he realised that he wasn't going to get his hands on Germany. "You can't just leave! You had a job! I didn't raise you to be a loser! Even if you don't win, you don't stop fighting! You can't leave and make me think you're dead!"

Prussia's struggling changed, and Germany realised he was no longer trying to attack him but to get away from him. He soon saw why. Prussia had turned his head to the side and was blinking and clenching his jaw in an attempt to hide the fact that he was on the verge of tears.

At first, Germany wasn't sure what to do. Watching someone cry made him uncomfortable, and his preferred method of dealing with it was ignoring it. It was alright if it was Italy – all Germany had to do was stand there and let the other throw himself at him, and somehow that always helped. But it wasn't the same with Prussia. He wasn't supposed to cry. He was strong and confident and always laughed at every obstacle that was thrown at him. If something went wrong, Prussia knew how to handle it.

"I'm sorry," Germany muttered. He hesitated for a moment longer, but then he pulled Prussia against him and let go of his wrists. The other didn't resist much and eventually wrapped his arms around him and hid his face against his shoulder.

"You're a jerk, West! The biggest jerk in the world!"

"I know."

"I thought you were dead and that you'd been so desperate that you didn't see any way to fix things. You made me feel like I suck as a brother, and someone who's the best at it should never have to feel that way!"

"You've done the same to me," Germany pointed out.

"No, I haven't!"

"That one time when I was little you came back from battle and pretended to be mortally wounded and die in the hall."

"That was a joke! And I got back up as soon as you started bawling! And _then _I stole you a cream pie from the kitchen! But you didn't come back, and there isn't enough cream in the world to make me feel better!"

"I'm back now."

They didn't speak for another moment, and that was when he realised what it was that had been bothering him earlier.

"You've lost weight," he said. Prussia had always been on the lean side, but he'd had a strong, fit body. Germany was relieved when he couldn't feel his ribs, but this development was still alarming. He pried Prussia's arms from around him and moved back so that he could look at his face. "And you've never been this pale. You don't look like a nation with a growing economy. What's wrong?"

Prussia laughed and began to straighten his tie. "You're an idiot, West. You're the nation whose economy is booming, not me."

"But you were fine after the war. Why are you growing weak now?"

"I've had a theory for a while." Prussia chuckled and crossed his hands behind his head. "I'm not Germany, but I was trying so hard, and the first thing I had to do was stop being Prussia. I figure that just left me with nothing, especially since my people are going to be all yours one day anyway."

"If you knew that, why did you go along with it?"

"Because you asked! You wrote that damn letter and left your people to me! What, did you think I'd run and save my own hide?"

"You should have," Germany insisted. "Because if this is weakening you, who knows what –"

"Pfft, like you have any right to scold me. You're the one who's been selfish, irresponsible and a coward! I want a better apology and cake every day until I think you've paid me back! Which won't be for at least fifty years!"

Germany was ready to promise his brother all the cake in the world, especially if it meant he'd get some meat on his bones again.

"I'll make you a cake and write your real name on it," he said. "I'm sorry. I thought I was doing you a favour, but I was only making it worse for you. I'm so sorry."

"Don't start bawling. Real men only cry when their dog dies or when there's a really sad ending in a movie."

Germany knew better than to point out that Prussia had been crying himself only moments before. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the persistent sting in his eyes. He had almost killed his brother with his stunt. If he'd come back later, maybe it would have been to an empty office.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked. Prussia didn't exist anymore. Would going back to that identity save him, or would it only prolong the inevitable?

"Yeah, don't you worry about me. Something will come my way, but it's got to be natural. I'm never going through shit like this again, so don't you dare try to pull this one on me a second time." Prussia ran his fingers through his hair and fell down on his back, laughing. "Damn, West! This has to be the cruellest trick you can pull on anyone. If you weren't my brother and if you didn't need me so much, I'd stop talking to you."

"I'm sor –"

"Quit it with that tone. If I know you at all, you're going to start apologizing and grovelling at everyone's feet as soon as you're back in office. Don't do that to me. Be normal."

Germany felt a small smile of relief force its way to his lips. As long as Prussia forgave him, he was sure things would be fine. He didn't think it would be this easy with any of the other nations, but at least he wouldn't have to face them alone.

"I figure Italy deserves something sensitive and sweet, but can we pull some big prank on Austria? I know! I'll invite him to dinner, and then you're just going to come from the kitchen and sit down like nothing's wrong, and when he reacts, I'll pretend that I can't see you! He's going to shit his pants!"

"Don't you think that would be a little too insensitive?"

"Come on, do this for me! You owe me one!"

"No. The last thing we need now is to act foolishly. There's so much work to do," Germany said, getting up on his feet and patting his trousers to make sure they were straight and clean after all the wrestling.

"I didn't mean you should go back to normal right away! Can't we go out for a beer first?"

"It's not even ten in the morning."

"So? Make it coffee, then, if you're so much of a wuss that you can't handle alcohol yet."

Germany didn't need to consider it for long. He'd been gone for over five years without his brother. This once, work could wait until they had had the time to sit down and talk let it sink in that he was really back.

They were already out the door when Prussia stopped in his tracks and ran back into the office. He pulled open one of the desk drawers and began to rummage through it, creating an uncharacteristic mess on the floor as the papers went flying.

"What are you doing?"

"I knew it was still here!" Prussia showed him the treasure he had found, an old war medal from a time when Germany had only been learning to handle a weapon. He pinned it to his chest and grinned. "There! I feel better already now that I don't have to hide my awesome nature anymore!"

War memorabilia of any kind made Germany want to grit his teeth, but he managed a smile. It was Prussia's history, not his, and it was important to him. He couldn't ask him to put it away.

"You know, I think I have figured out why I'm still here," Prussia said as they were leaving the building. He continued without waiting for Germany's reaction. "Prussia was the best country in history, and my job is to remind you lot of that. You know, inspiration! Maybe one day one or two of you will get close to my level, but that won't happen if I'm not here to motivate you with my existence! I'm needed so that the world can be a better place!"

"I suppose that explanation is as good as any."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm going to continue being a great influence on you! I don't know how you managed these years without me. You must have missed me a lot! Only an idiot wouldn't."

Despite Prussia's boastful tone, Germany knew it was a question rather than a statement.

"Of course. You have no idea. I... look, I kept this." Germany reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper photo.

"That's me!" Prussia exclaimed in delight and snatched the picture. "And you had this the whole time? You didn't think anything like that I was a sucky brother and that you didn't want anything to do with me anymore?"

"No, why would I? I'm the one who made all the mistakes."

"I helped," Prussia said and flung his arm over Germany's shoulders. "But no more bad thoughts allowed today! Only coffee and cake and sausages and beer!"

* * *

Telling the others that he was alive and would take the reins from Prussia had been as much of a spectacle as Germany had feared. He didn't know if the sounds Italy had made at the news counted as crying or laughing, but for once the constant touching, blabbering and insistence on cooking and feeding him – Italy claimed he probably hadn't eaten well during his absence – didn't bother him that much. France said he'd rather talk about politics with him than Prussia anyway. There were hostile and suspicious reactions as well, but they were to be expected, so he didn't take them personally and only strove to prove his worth with concrete actions.

Taking over after Prussia was the easy part. His brother had kept perfect records of all the paperwork, and the office was organized exactly the way Germany liked it, except for the stashes of candy and bird seeds he found in the drawers. For the first few weeks, Prussia kept introducing him to important politicians and helped him get updated on all the current treaties and important processes. For a while, Germany felt like they were back in the past when his brother had taught him the responsibilities of a nation.

However, Prussia's presence in the office grew steadily lesser and lesser until one day, Germany realised he hadn't been there at all until he showed up during lunch break and dragged him out to eat.

"West, I've got plans," he announced after they had been sitting at a restaurant for a while.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to –" Prussia started, but that was when the waiter arrived with their food. He served Germany first, smiling at him as he placed the plate before him and wished him a good appetite.

"Look at that guy. He loves you," Prussia said a moment later after the waiter had left.

"That was just normal customer service."

"Yeah, right. _I_ got customer service. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had dropped on his knees before you and –"

"Prussia!"

" – bowed down to you to swear undying loyalty. Or I don't know. Maybe that's a bit extreme for your people right now."

"What's your point?"

Prussia stabbed a potato on his plate and cut it into half. "Nobody ever looked at me like that when I was trying to be Germany. I usually have to go to a Landsmannschaft Ostpreußen meeting to get that, and even then it's different. They talk to me like I'm their grandpa whom they're visiting in the hospital."

"Ah." Germany searched his mind for something suitable to say. It was a rare moment when Prussia admitted something might be wrong, and he was always unprepared when it happened.

"And I don't really have much to do at your office anymore. That's why I've decided to start a project!"

Germany wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that. Prussia had good ideas sometimes, but his methods of realising them often gave him a headache. On the other hand, it made him happy to see him be productive even without a government or an army providing him with structure and order.

"What are you planning?" he asked.

"I want to move back to Berlin."

Germany paused cutting his meat and lifted his eyes from his plate. "Why? The capital is here."

"You mean your capital. Bonn isn't my style. I'm getting bored to tears here. There's nothing for me to do, and I don't like just sitting on my ass and watching others work."

"What's there for you to do in Berlin? Besides, it's dangerous. Now that I'm back, Russia will probably demand to have you back, and if you go to Berlin, you'll be surrounded by the enemy. I hope that's not your reason for going."

"Who said I'd be going to your side of the city?"

Germany was ready to retort that both sides were his and that he'd never recognise the excuse of a country that had been founded to divide his people, but then he understood the true meaning of Prussia's words.

"You can't be serious," he said. "What possible reason do you have to go there?"

"Look at the way they are running things. I figure they could use some help getting things right."

"You aren't East Germany."

"No, but I already fooled everyone into thinking I was West Germany. This shouldn't be any more difficult."

"This is ridiculous. People are pouring to our side through Berlin every day. There's nothing good there, and I'm not letting you go."

Anger flared in Prussia's eyes. "You can't stop me! I can go wherever I want. Don't you see what a perfect idea this is? If I'm working with the government there, I could make things better, and it should be a piece of cake to unite the two sides when the time is right. Give it a year or two, and it'll be over."

"Look what happened when you were filling in for me. It made you wither. You can't start doing the same thing again."

"But it's not the same! I really tried to be Germany for a while, but this is going to be just a ruse. It's not for real!"

"It'll have to be real enough if you want to convince everyone, especially Russia."

"But you'll know the truth. That's enough."

Germany gritted his teeth and glared at his food. From a purely objective perspective, Prussia's words made sense. He was worried about his people who lived in East Germany. Such a large number of them kept moving to his side that life in the socialist state couldn't be anywhere near as good as the official image claimed. It would be such a relief to have someone he trusted there to look after the people, and yet...

"I don't want you to go. It's too risky. If something goes wrong, there's nothing I can do to help."

"So? I'll manage! I took care of myself just fine for all the centuries you weren't there."

That was when Prussia had been a nation, but Germany didn't have the heart to say that. He didn't doubt that his brother was capable even now, but he didn't have a loyal army or politicians to back him up. The people wouldn't look up to him either. He'd be all alone against too powerful an enemy.

"Besides," Prussia continued, "I kind of want to go and keep an eye on Sanssouci. Who knows what those jerks will do to it? See what happened to the Berlin City Palace!"

It was only a building, Germany wanted to argue. All the palaces in the country couldn't be more important than his brother. But he knew it was much more than that to Prussia.

"Are you sure you've thought this through?" he asked. He couldn't stop Prussia from going if he had made up his mind, and any attempt would only result in them parting on bad terms.

"Yeah, so don't you dare try to stop me."

"I won't. After what I did, I don't think I have the right to. I wish you wouldn't go, but... be careful."

"Of course I will!" Prussia said, and Germany was sure he'd be off to do something risky the first chance he got. "And I know you'll be super sad to see me go, but there's one really big bonus to all this."

"What is it?"

"I'll get my own football team! We can play against each other! I'm going to make you cry like a baby."

Normally, Germany would have pointed out that there were far more important matters to consider, but he knew Prussia was aware of that. He had to know what he'd be subjecting himself to the moment he crossed the border. Talking about trivial things was simply his way of making them both feel better about his decision.

"We should stage a fight," Prussia said. "Russia needs to believe that I hate you for coming back and taking my job away. I'll go running to him and make him believe I want to be buddies with him. Piece of cake."

"When?"

"Let's avoid each other for some time and have small arguments first. To make it believable. And I want to visit the Hohenzollern Castle before I go."

Germany nodded. They finished their lunch, though uneasiness had taken away his appetite. He couldn't stop thinking that this might be his last friendly mealtime with Prussia, the last time he heard him laugh or saw him smile that way for a long time. And right after they had been reunited.

At the same time, there was a sliver of hope hiding amongst the shadows. If this worked, his country and people might become one again. He and Prussia were going to work together, and this time it was to achieve something good, something that would make them proud when it was printed in history books.

* * *

**AN:** And that's the end of the story. Thank you to everyone who has been reading this. In case you feel that this ending leaves the story incomplete, I cut it off here because it had already filled the requirements of the prompt (Germany fakes his own death but comes back later). If I had continued further, it would have turned into a totally different story about Cold War era spy stuff. I might write something like that later, but for now I already have a number of different prompts I want to fill.


End file.
